


Swing It Low

by ShudderShock



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShudderShock/pseuds/ShudderShock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on events from the episode, 'Harley and Ivy'. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy. (Explicit content throughout.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Title: Swing It Low: Chapter One

Pairing: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Summary: A ‘what-if’ spin on the episode ‘Harley and Ivy’. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy.

Rating: Mature.                                                                                                                                        

Disclaimer: Characters © DC. Opening lyrics by Morphine.

++++

'I got buttons bursting in the air  
I got apple orchards everywhere  
I got grapes swinging from the vine  
Swinging in a line, lined up in the sunshine

I'm on time, fresh, fast  
A sweetheart, I'll watch your back  
Come on swing, a swing from the shoestrings  
Right or wrong, to me it's the same thing

You especially you  
You especially you  
You especially you  
You have my loyalty

You in wartime Love peace  
I need to walk you down the street  
I'm right here, I'll watch your back  
In case the wind blows off your hat

You, you're on time  
Your eyes are like a diamond mine  
Deep and bright inside

I got buttons bursting in the air  
I got apple orchards everywhere  
I got grapes swinging from the vine  
Swinging in a line, lined up in the sunshine

I got buttons bursting in the air  
Ideas, run fingers through my hair  
My shoes, they are ready to move  
My shoes, they are ready to move

Swing it low, swing it low  
Swing it low, low, low  
Swing it low, swing it low  
Swing it low, low, low'

++++

Harley Quinn really wished that she was surprised when the Joker had tossed her out of the Laff City club.

Quite literally tossed.

She was stunned for just a moment, the harsh texture of the asphalt hitting the side of her cheek, shoulder and ribs.  She hadn’t meant to hand Mister J the ‘BANG’ flag gun out of her purse, honestly.

Besides it really _had_ been funny when he pulled the trigger.  Apparently, only Harley thought so, since as soon as the Joker realized that the Bat Mobile wasn’t going to have its windshield blown out by a shotgun sized blast, decided to throw the trick pistol at Harley’s head, effectively destroying their own windshield as she ducked.

Speaking of purses, the Joker had just added insult to injury as he aimed her bag at her already abused head.  It hit with a ‘thud’, knocking her back once more.  Who know something full of guns, bombs, knives and other entertaining contraptions could hurt so much?

Harley certainly didn’t know.

But it was something that would defiantly be imbedded in her mind from now on.

The little clown felt her cheeks grow hot with rising anger, burning beneath the white paint of her face. She dragged herself up quickly and with as much grace as possible, his criticizing words from just moment ago forcing their way into the front of her brain.

_“Maybe you’re a better crook then the rest of us here? Ha!  Maybe you’d like to try to run this gang?  When have you ever contributed a worth-while idea to anything we’ve done? All you ever do is get lucky!”_

And then he stomped over to her and looked so frightening, she couldn’t help but slink down and cower.

How could he accuse her of not contributing anything to the gang?  That was so unfair!  She always drove the get- away car, was a great spy, made a damn good pot of coffee and looked good doing it.  How many other women in Gotham City had those sorts of credentials?  

Oh, the nerve.

“You’ll see! I’ll show you! I’m gonna pull the biggest heist you’ve ever seen, and then I’ll be laughing! You hear me?! Laughing! Ha ha!” Harley yelled and then stopped mid taunt.

 The Joker had already slammed the heavy back door shut, drowning out any more she could have said.  The exit door was thick and sound proof, but she could hear him cackling, mocking her every word.

Harley took a deep breath, the resolve in her face fierce and determined, but it faded as she turned around taking in the dirty alley that the exit had lead too.

Picking up her discarded bag she walked away, petite shoulders slumped.  She felt defeated, disappointed and embarrassed that she had screwed up everything for her Puddin’.  She had the perfect opportunity to make him proud, if only she hadn’t grabbed that wrong pistol.  If life was simpler, things like that would be color coded, because, who in their right mind would want a joke gun to look like a real gun?  And if the Joker was so adamant about Harley keeping up with his things, the least he could do was give a simple explanation of what the hell she was carrying for him.

“An idiot could figure that out.” She muttered to herself, than gave a quick look over her shoulder just on the off chance that the white faced man had heard her through the door.  He hadn’t and Harley bit her lip hard in annoyance.  The Joker was probably already sitting at his desk, shoulders hunched over his latest scheme, green hair shining and slick with dried sweat due in part to the ungodly amount of summer heat, the rest thorough concentration, already forgetting about Harley.

She’d show him.  She’d prove that she was worthy of being his girl and he’d love her forever, oh yes he would.  He’d stop being so rough and shower with her praise and gifts and they’d live happily ever after!

Her thoughts were interrupted as she reached the end of the thin, stinking alley, street lights casting sick yellow illumination and harsh shadows on everything.  She ignored the disgusting puddle of whatever she had just stepped in and stomped towards the cracked sidewalk.  In any other city, Harley mused, walking out of a wet, humid alley would be met with a breeze of fresh air, but not in Gotham City. The main strip smelled just as bad as the depleted crevice; unwashed bodies, wet dogs and piled up garbage.  It was the simple results of too many human beings living completely too close to each other to be decent or even healthy.

This part of city, far removed from the upper classes, was the very definition of ‘urban decay’, good and fine Old Gotham.  It was the perfect place for the local criminals to lay low; the cops were too scared, even with the Batman around, to come and answer the calls of these unfortunate enough to be born on the lowest of the social latter.

Everyone from Two-Face to the Scarecrow had taken up residence here, if not for a short time.  They ran this place, a home away from Arkham Asylum.  It offered every resource they needed to complete whatever plot that was being cooked up in their heads and it was all for sale obscenely cheap.

Yeah, the cops, they hated it here and the desperate needed them so badly, but they would never come.

But Harley had nothing to be scared of in Old Gotham.  It was an almost charming place if you could look past the hookers, rapists, junkies and other colorful characters that inhabited the area, besides everyone recognized her, and they knew the company she kept.

They knew the things that she had done.

Oh yes, they did.

And if they didn’t know and decided to press their luck with a pixie like girl in a skin tight jester costume, they would know, she could teach them fast and good.

However the inhabitants of Old Gotham weren’t really on Harley’s mind at the moment.  She had continued stomping down the street, and now the left over water from that nasty brown puddle had found its way down her boots and was making her toes wet.  Sweat was clinging to her pale powered brow and beneath the hood she wore, her hair felt heavy and itchy.  

It had been a hot summer and earlier that night clouds had started to gather, before the failed caper, before the chase with the Batman.  The humidity was now beating down, and cramped buildings were blocking any wayward air current that may have been offered up.  It was at times like this that Harley wished her costume wasn’t so stifling, clinging to her body, trapping her sweat. The damn thing just didn’t _breathe_ well, but Mister J, he seemed to like it, so she kept it on, even if was uncomfortable.

It had been a common occurrence for Gotham to be drenched in rain this season, and with the added humidity, the thunderstorms were intense.

A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and Harley looked up, her thoughts distracted, watching for lightning.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

White branches of electricity ripped through the cloudy sky.

Harley saw trees for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.

She hurried her steps, not wanting to be caught up in the violent storm that was giving a warning to all those below. Her priority was finding a place to crash, since she clearly wasn’t going to be sacking up with the Joker tonight, and considering his attitude, she really didn’t mind.

++++

If there was one good thing about Old Gotham, it was that the motels were cheap and for the most part clean, if your definition of clean was translated in a loose manner.  Harley didn’t mind the dirty windows, the gritty carpets or the always rumpled bed sheets, because dealing with those things were just the occupational hazards she had gotten used to.  

She decided on the Lucky Star Inn, and for just a second, thought about going inside to the clerk at the counter and paying for a room.  However, she was still miffed about getting tossed out all because of one tiny mistake; so she made up her mind to take her anger out on public property or on some passerby.  Besides, she had no money, and unless the clerk wanted to be paid in the half melted candy bar that was smashed in her bag, it wasn’t likely she was going to be getting a room in a legal manner.

Room 105 was on the second floor of the plain red bricked motel.  The light was on, but there were no voices and picking the lock was remarkably simple.  The neighboring rooms on either side were empty and there were no sounds coming from either of them.  She glanced behind, double checking to make sure no one has seen her, and stepped into the small room.

Whoever this place had been rented out to was long gone, and it looked like they had left in a hurry.  A small black purse laid on the nightstand, a wrinkled news paper sat on the bathroom counter, and various bits of women’s clothing, a bra, panties and stockings, were thrown about on the floor.  

Harley pulled the old wooden chair away from the table decorating the plain room and jammed it underneath the knob and then fastened the door with its chain lock.  Next she drew the curtains as tightly as they would go, taking a moment to peek through them with caution. While she was positive that no one was coming back, it never hurt to be on the paranoid side, especially with the line of work she was involved with.

Deciding it was safe she turned and made her way to the bathroom.  Her gloves, shoes, headpiece and finally the skin sticking body suit made a neat little trail behind her.  She couldn’t suppress a squeal of delight when she noticed how clean the tub was, turning the water knobs with glee.  The owners of this particular place must have actually paid their employees to do more than just stand around dealing with disgruntled customers.  As the harsh stream of steaming water beat down her sore body, Harley felt some of her anger melt away.  The generic hotel shampoo and conditioner actually smelt good and the tiny bar of soap lathered up nicely, and Harley scrubbed herself clean.  Even after she had finished, she stood in the hot spray, enjoying the way the droplets of water slid down her belly, legs and back.  She begrudgingly stepped out when a strong crack of thunder cut through the sound of running water.

Harley began running a towel through her blond hair with one hand, channel surfing with the old TV remote with the other.  The local news mentioned nothing about the burglary (not that there had been one Harley reminded herself), but she did find it to be odd.  Even though the cops hadn’t been chasing them, as they normally did pathetically behind the Bat Mobile, she had been expecting something to be reported.  Her erratic driving had caused a few car accidents after all.  

She muted the television, bored with it.

The promising storm was now blowing outside and Harley listened to the rhythm of rain strike the glass of the window.  From the ruckus it was causing, there just had to be sheets of it, nasty lukewarm stuff that would make the air thick and heavy. There was another flash of lightning and the lamp on the night stand flickered.

If the weather was so bad here Harley hoped that the Laff City was going to lose electricity, forcing the Joker and his idiot gang to suffer without air conditioning.  It was nothing he didn’t deserve for his quick temper and scything words… but then poor Mister J would be hot and uncomfortable and her cupid-bow mouth pouted at the thought of him suffering.

Trying her best to push that thought from her head, she sat on the edge of her twin bed, threadbare towel wrapped around her frame, other on the floor, too wet to use anymore.  Grabbing the forgotten purse from the nightstand, she dumped the contents on the bed:  pack of open Menthol cigarettes, lighter, fire-engine red lipstick, cheap perfume, keychain with no keys and pepper spray.  There was no ID and no credit cards, absolutely nothing at all to link the items to any person.

Harley gave it one last hard shake and when that wielded no results, she brought it to her face.  It was completely empty.

She put the items back in the clutch, then the clutch into her own bag.  The items had her fingerprints on them; they’d need to be taken care of when she had the chance, maybe tomorrow morning.

She glanced at the cheap digital clock on the nightstand, its red numbers glowing bright.

It was 4:15 a.m.

It _was_ tomorrow.

She tossed her hands up in a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“Christ, what a night.” her high pitched voice breaking the silence of the room,  “A failed heist, kicked out on my ass, and ending up in this crummy room at a two-bit hotel, all over a fake gun and that stupid diamond?  This is ridiculous!”

She stood and threw the towel off her body, then flopped back down on the bed, the chilled air of the air conditioning feeling like finger tips on her naked body.  She turned onto her side, and sighed.

The day must have caught up with her, as well as the realization of the time due to that offending clock, because Harley couldn’t suppress a long yawn.  It took quite a bit of effort to turn off the lamp and then crawl into the sheets.  The blond didn’t even bother with the TV, the soft glow offering comfort in the small, lonely room.  She rolled onto her stomach and rubbed her nose into the pillow.  It smelt very strongly of bleach, as did the sheets.  It was harsh to her nostrils but within minutes she was sound asleep.

++++

Harley was awakened from an uneasy dream involving a screaming woman and blood splattered flowers by the sound of a steady beat.  She recognized it immediately as a fist banging on a door and it was getting quicker, more frantic.  An angry male voice was now adding to the commotion and although he sounded muffled, his words were clear.

 “Why the fuck is the door jammed?”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the backs of her hands and willed her foggy mind to work, first glancing at the clock beside her.  It read 6:54 a.m. and last night’s fury came back to her with the force of a tidal wave.

Another voice was now adding to the symphony of annoyance that was Harley’s make-shift alarm.

“I don’t know! Don’t you have the key?  And why the hell does it matter? There’s someone inside who _shouldn’t_ be!”

The conversation continued as the door knob rattled.

“No shit.  Maybe her pimp came by looking for his whore, and if that is the case, we’ll do him just like we did her.”

The door buckled with force, and Harley couldn’t help but smile.  She kicked off the covers, grabbed her bag and costume, and then headed to the bathroom.  It was during her shuffle there that Harley began picking up on small details that she had bypassed during the night, such as a scratched up mirror with a light dusting a white power covering its shiny surface, and the dull razor blade laying next to it.  Passing the white door frame leading into the tiled room, Harley noticed it was stained with small dots of red.

She slammed the door shut behind her, locked it and dropped her items into the shiny white tub. 

Harley pondered her new situation with a mix of glee and anger.  She had never been much of a morning person, which suited her lifestyle fine.  Her internal clock was backwards, she was used to getting up around dusk or late afternoon, and using the night to plan various things with the Joker.  The day was spent laying around, napping and generally being lazy. 

These guys, now they had some nerve and they were just _asking_ for it, and even if they didn’t know that they had awoken a sleeping tiger, it was easy to see (or hear) from the snippets of conversation, that these men were _not_ the kinds of people who needed to be walking the streets. Even in a city as horrible as Gotham, certain criminal acts were still looked down upon.

With her sleepy brain, Harley still had a pretty good idea of what had happened in this room before her arrival, especially with the banter between the two men outside the door, the contraband on the shoddy table in the corner and the bits of gore on the doorframe.  It all made sense now and Harley placed the events in order.

Prostitution was the oldest occupation in the world, and it seemed that before the blond jester had shown up at Room 105, the two charming fellows pounding on the aluminum door had decided to indulge in that very vocation.  Maybe they offered to pay their hooker in drugs, hence the left over residue of coke on the pock marked mirror, or they brought it along to liven up the mood.  But, something must have gone array, because there was little doubt in Harley’s mind that this unnamed woman, the owner of the purse she had found, was dead.

The incident had been one typical of a night in Old Gotham, and Harley felt something akin to sadness bubbling in her chest for the dead whore.  The petite clown had done some bad things in her time, murder and torture being the two most common occurrences; you couldn’t really avoid it hanging around the Joker, as he delighted in actions that invoked both terror and humor, though not necessarily at the same time and it was suffice to say that along the line that Harley had started to enjoy it as well.

But despite all of that, she had never killed a working girl. As if their lives were not difficult enough—they’re just trying to carve out a living—and they worked hard, very hard for their money!  They had a job to do, just like everyone else and Harley could not criticize that.  There were an abundant number of despicable folks that deserved to die, but the streetwalkers that stood on the decaying corners of Old Gotham needed to be left alone to continue their business of choice.

From the bathroom, she could hear the voices outside of the hotel room, along with various sounds that came with trying to open a door with brute force, and at that moment Harley decided that the world would be a better place without these… _these people_.

 The slamming of the front door and the grunting of the two men was now reaching a hectic pitch and a booming crack rang out as the door finally gave, the chair overturned and the knob embedded itself into the wall with tremendous force.

Harley glanced down at her bare feet, realizing she was still it the nude and decided that nothing _really_ needed to be done about that.  It would take far more effort than required to suit up and she didn’t feel the gesture would even be appreciated.  And what good would it do for her to dirty up her costume for people who simple were going to be _dead_ soon anyway?   She knelt down and started to dig through her bag, listening to the heavy footsteps that were becoming more pronounced.  The blond pushed aside a lock-pick kit, glass cutter and a small handgun before she found what she was looking for.

Growing up, Harley never considered herself to be a home improvement type.  Tools never held a fascination, dirty, greasy, heavy things that they were, best left to the large callused hands of men.  So the irony was not lost on her the night the Joker had towed her to an abandoned warehouse to help him swipe some required chemistry for his next brilliant scheme, and a wayward cop had followed them in, caught them by surprise.  He had pushed Harley down on the dust and gravel coved floor, and flew at the Joker grabbing him by the purple lapels of his jacket.  Harley had done the only thing that made sense to her, grabbing an old rusty claw hammer off the ground and swung it at the cop, connecting with the side of his neck.

She had been shocked by her actions, still being new to the game at that time, but the Joker had simply _praised_ her and patted her head.  She had kept the hammer, a memento of her good work that night.  It felt electrifying to be in her hands again now and her body was tingling with the dark deeds that were going to be carried out, and those two _morons_ didn’t even know what was going to hit them!

Her line of thought was interrupted with heavy steps stopping in front of the bathroom door.

“Close the door, Larry. I found our little burglar.”

She heard the muted sound of the front door closing and a set of dragging boots and then:

“Hey, asshole, found you.”

The doorknob turned in an experiment to open the door.

“Locking yourself in isn’t going help!  Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

Harley pressed her palm to her mouth in an effort to keep her quiet giddy laughter in check.  There was a time in her life that she would have been intimidated by something like this, but not now.  Not with what she had become, and a part of her wanted to milk this out, wanted to torture them for hours, but another part just wanted to get this over with, because she was dog tired and growing more agitated by the minute.

“Open this door now!  Or it’s coming down and you won’t like that if it does!  Do you know who you’re screwing with, bitch!”

The blond grit her teeth, and just then a sort of blinding rage shook through her.  Looking back, she’d acknowledge that they had no idea there was a woman behind that thin bathroom door, and had only uttered that word as a means of insult, but right then, Harley didn’t care, because she wasn’t a bitch and neither was that poor prostitute who they had murdered and _fuck_ them, she was going to open their skulls.

Harley ran the flat head of the hammer on her cheek, down her neck, between her breasts and gripped it tightly with her left hand readying if for its death blows.  She shuddered when she pressed it against her flat stomach and her breathe hitched in her throat in excitement.  She took a step forward then threw openly the door harshly, revealing the two men.  

There was nothing remarkably horrid about them, at least not physically; they were normal guys, somebody’s brother, son or dad.  Both of their faces were stained ruddy with alcohol consumption and they stank.  

They froze when the saw her and she was glad for it.  Harley wanted them to look at her, to take in her features, her round face, pink mouth, bright blue eyes and gold hair.  She wanted their eyes to see her fair body, her breasts, waist, hips and everything in between.

A smile flashed on the face of the man on the left, opening his mouth to say something degrading, and that’s when Harley came forward, bringing the hammer up over her head and delivering it down onto his cranium before a word left his mouth.  Blood dripped from the top of his crown, it was dented now, and then she brought the heavy tool across his face, claw first, his nose breaking, a chunk of cheek ripping revealing the muscle underneath his skin.

He screamed, dropping to his knees, his hand coming up to his face.  His nails were dirty and ragged, and Harley felt a wake of revulsion in her stomach.

One more rise of the hammer, putting all her force into the swing, connecting with his head again, round bone creaking like an egg.

The other male stood there in shock, mouth agape, looking at his now dead friend.

Harley turned to him, smiling wide.

“Ain’t it neat how a small girl like me can swing a heavy thing like this so hard? Force amplification and all that!  I mean, I ain’t that heavy and just look at what I did right there!”

Her voice must have snapped him out of the daze he was in.  

 “Fuck you, fucking bitch!” he stuttered out.

He turned to run, and Harley jump forward, closing the distance in the small room.

“I got something for your nice dirty mouth!” she yelled as he brought the claw down on his head.  She had to yank to swing it back; the silly thing had gotten stuck.

He tripped and a piercing cry escaped his mouth.  His falling weight brought her down too, and she landed on his back, gripping the handle and pulling.  The resistance was annoying, so was his flailing.

“Stop moving! A girl is trying to work here!” she commanded and with a wet pop she managed to get it out, taking a fair portion of hair and bone with it.

He calmed done quickly after that, moaning and crying, but not moving.  Harley reckoned she may have hit a nerve.

She stood up over him and used her foot to turn him onto his back.

Her resentfulness towards the Joker was now draining away and she watched the blood spread through the blue rug.  The channel she had left the TV on from earlier was showing cartoons and casting vibrant, colorful reflections in the growing pool of thick red.  It was pretty, Harley decided.

The dying mans breath was shallow, but weak sobs still bubbled out of his mouth.  The blond wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“You know, a lot of people commit murder in Gotham and don’t get caught.  Too bad for you, huh?” she sneered at him, letting the anticipation of adding another act of cruelty fill her. “I mean, how stupid are you?  Stupid enough that I’m gonna need a souvenir to remember you by.  And I have just the thing.”

 She walked back to the bathroom where her bag lay, but not before turning around, blond hair whipping about her face.

“Now you stay put.”

She felt amazingly good walking away the death scene, joyful and pretty, as sense of fulfillment and satisfaction gripping her heart.  She rummaged through her things one more time and then squealed when she found the item she wanted.

The little jester walked back out to the bedroom, stood over the paralyzed man and held up the needle nose pliers for him to see with a face splitting grin.

“Open up the hanger door cause here comes the air plane!” she sang bring them to his mouth.

He struggled a bit: refusing to open his mouth, eyes wide with fear, but Harley was clever and reached into his pocket to get his wallet.  The hooker may have not have had any identification or credit cards but it would be absurd that this man wouldn’t at least have a license.

He did and after Harley had crammed the card of hard plastic in between his front teeth, it made work a lot easier.

In the back of her mind she wondered if the Joker was having as much fun as she was right now.

She sort of hoped not.

++++

After she had yanked out her pearly white treasures, she had decided to catch up on the sleep she lost.  And it wasn’t like the newly toothless man and his buddy they were gonna run out and start yapping to the police about what happened.  She had cranked up the air conditioner high, so it would be at least tomorrow until they started to stink out the place.

She woke up around 6:00 p.m. and stretched her body, holding her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders and letting her back pop.

Harley had been too tired to shower away the blood and bits of other things, especially after she had taken her time going through the pockets of the dead men.  She wielded nothing of interest until she hit the cash in their wallets and two keys, which she was sure was connected to the dead woman’s keychain in her bag.

The first looked like a car key, and that was going to be very useful in the scheme of things, if she could find the right vehicle.

The second was marked with the Lucky Star Inn’s logo, along with the numbers 105.

Harley was also $200 richer.

As her feet hit the floor, she cringed with how cold and wet the carpet was.  These smucks sure didn’t know how to handle their bleeding and with each step to the bathroom she gagged at the squishy wet noise. The pressure of her weight was forcing the soaked in blood of the carpet to come up.

The blood on her feet made walking into the bathroom slick and had to throw a hand on the door frame to keep from falling on her rump.

Harley pulled her costume out of the shower, laid it across the commode, and stepped in, pulling the vinyl curtain closed.

She used up the rest of the small bar of generic hotel soap, along with the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner.  The hot water felt exquisite on her body, and even after the water dripping off her arms, tummy and legs had gone from red to clear, she lingered a few more moments.  

It was almost a shame she had to get out, but she had some serious business to consider.

She dried herself quickly and pulled on her costume.  The boots came next and then the ruffle cuffed gloves.  She would deal with the head piece and make-up after she had brushed her teeth and did her hair.

And it was when she had opened the plastic wrapped toothbrush that the hotel had provided that the newspaper that had been laying there caught her attention.

It had a few dots of blood on it, but the headline was plain to see:

Rare and Beautiful Harlequin Diamond Visits Gotham Museum

An article about the precious stone followed in smaller text, but Harley had no interest in that.

That damn diamond, the very thing they were trying to steal, was mocking her in the face!

During the whole exchange of events leading up to Room 105, and the two men, a way to get back at Mister J had been nagging at the back of her mind.  It needed to be good and deliver the message of: “Ha ha! I told you so!”

The Joker would try to steal the diamond again, Harley was certain of that, but she would get it first and rub it in his face.

She spat the minty foam out of her mouth and grabbed the paper for a closer look.  The Joker never gave directions in the sense of an address when she chauffeured him around; he’d just point and say things like “Turn here! Turn here! Harley, turn!”  And they’d somehow end up in their location.

She got the impression that he liked to be jerked around in the back sit, because, in a weird way, it probably felt like a carnival ride.  Harley didn’t quite feel the same, as the Joker was the worst backseat driver in the history of the automobile and on more than one occasion had almost gotten them both killed because of his reckless directions.

It didn’t matter last night though; the Bat had been waiting for them as soon as they crossed the bridge that would have led them to Monolith Square and stayed on their tail for a chase around the city.

Finding the car that the stolen key lead to would be important now, getting all the way back to the Square would be a long trip on foot, and she wanted to beat the Joker out on the gem.

++++

As it turned out, the stolen car key belonged to 1984 Mustang, silver in color, with a cherry red interior.

She had always loved the color red and it wasn’t in bad condition, not by the standards of Old Gotham, and it saddened Harley briefly as her mind wandered back to the prostitute who had been murdered.

How many tricks had she pulled to get this car?

Did she have a family?

Did she know that when she woke up yesterday morning that she would be killed that very night?

In the end, it wasn’t important.

She was gone, and so were the people that had done her in and it seemed right that her vehicle was in Harley Quinn’s hands.  The petite jester grinned to herself and reminded herself that Karma was a very real thing, and this was simply fate’s way of repaying her for the justifiable deeds she carried out.

Harley Quinn, avenger of the Gotham City whore. 

Pimps and johns beware.

There were only a few cars in the parking lot, and when it finally got dark, she emerged from Room 105, face powered white to perfection, small black mask around her eyes and head piece in place. 

She took to the lot quietly and tried each car until the Mustang’s door had opened with her key.  She slid into the driver seat and investigated the rest of the car.  There was a brown paper bag on the passenger side and she dumped the items out.  In it she found a half empty bottle of whiskey, black electrical tape, an old hacksaw and a bulky bundle of rope.

It was quite the mini murder kit, not half bad for a bunch of amateurs, but they were missing all the really good stuff, namely a screwdriver, piano wire and a Mozart CD, but if given the time, they would have learned, too bad they were dead and bleeding out on the rug.

She put the key into the ignition.

++++

It was hard to decide what to do with the car when the time came to get rid of it.  Harley was five miles away from the museum and decided that it wouldn’t be smart to take it any closer.  She had really become quite fond of the car in the short time she had spent in it, the sits were worn in and soft and the speakers didn’t sound half bad.

It was too old to have a CD player, but the tape deck worked and she found herself singing at the top of her lungs to the cassette inside:

“If looks could kill,

You’d be lying on the floor,

You’d be begging me “Please, please

Baby don’t hurt me no more”

 

Harley threw back her head and laughed.  The irony was not lost on her.

With hopes of reclaiming the car one day, she parked it next to a meter that had run out of time.  Unlike Old Gotham, the city council kept Monolith Square and its surround areas extremely clean, and had installed parking meters to generate extra money to keep improving it.

Getting caught with zero time was a $25 head ache, then a tire boot and lastly, a tow to the Gotham car impound and that’s exactly what Harley wanted.  She’d be able to break into the place, the security there was minuscule, and get her car back at a later date.

The trip on foot was a quick one and it provided her with a small warm-up before the main event of breaking and entering.

She felt positively bouncy with nervous energy as she neared the glass double doors of the building, and she tapped the toes of her short boots on the ground in an effort to displace some of it.

Harley circled around to back of the museum, noting that there was a plain blue car in the parking lot, no doubt the night patrol’s transportation.  If the city was cocky enough to only hire one person to look after their precious treasures, then she’d need to pay extra attention to any other security measures that were possibly hidden.

The Harlequin Diamond was the newest addition to the museum’s natural history department and that meant it would be in the center of the building, where the ceiling was made with glass, letting in the sunlight during the day.  This allowed all the patrons to view the finely cut edges and shimmering beauty of the hundreds year old stone without the ugliness of modern, artificial lighting, something the collectors were obsessively anal about.

Harley wasn’t quite sure how she would be displaying her soon to be gem.  It would probably look nice next to her television, especially at night when she enjoyed watching Cartoon Network or the local news, either one _always_ made her laugh. Maybe her babies (Oh, how she missed Bud and Lou!) would enjoy playing with it.  She could see the two hyenas in her mind, running around, chasing the diamond on the floor, sliding this way and that, barking and then prancing back up to her with it in their jaws, tails wagging, waiting for the next toss.

She hoped Mister J had remembered to feed them.

The top of the building was easy enough to get on, it required little effort at all, thanks to the fire escape stairs on the three story structure and before Harley knew it she was standing on the glass ceiling staring down at the large room below.

The diamond was in a locked glass case, which stood in the middle of a web of blue lasers, the obvious motion sensitive alarm.

There was no need to break the glass panel she was looking through, the piece popped out easily and she set it aside quietly.  She had liberated the rope from the Mustang before she dumped the car and tied it tightly around the base of a steel weathervane.  She dropped it to the floor, then stood over the opening, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  

It was game time and she couldn’t afford to mess this up.

If she didn’t land properly during the drop, not only could she get caught by the cops, but (and more frighteningly) could risk getting an injury so bad that paralysis was a real possibility.

That was not an option, no thank you.

Gotham City was never quiet, the sound of traffic, music, voices, construction and sirens (always sirens) were just something you got used to, and they faded as you lived there longer, but as Harley slowed her breathing and focused on her task ahead, her world became silent.

She slipped down it, quickly, but with control and landed lightly. The little clown was just outside the barrier of lasers now, and it only took a few steps to gain the momentum she required to spring over the first set, head first, hands out stretched.

She landed on them, pushed up and kept the rhythm going.

There were no breaks or pauses through the bars of light, only fluid and aggressive movement.  She propelled herself up and over the uneven lights, flipping and turning, meeting the ground with her palms and feet.

Harley gracefully landed on her knees in front of the case.

“Piece of cake!” she exclaimed quietly.

She got her first real look at the diamond.  It was amazingly beautiful, and all the hype that had been made about it was true. Mother Nature had handcrafted a perfect token of winter, cold, icy and sharp to the touch.

“Oh, Mister J is just gonna _flip_ when I give this to him!” she said, reaching into her shoulder bag to pull out her glass cutter. She pressed the device to the flat surface, realizing what she had just said.

“No…”

She turned the head of the cutter down, starting the circle she would use to acquire her prize.

“I’m keeping it for myself!”

The cut was almost complete, her mind once again running back to the Joker.  Imagine how pleased he’d be when Harley presented this to him!

“Well… maybe…”

The sound of the cutters steel head along the glass was the only noise all around Harley and she was smiling with realizing it.

The circle was half way done.

Her heart sped up.

Harley was almost there.

She was breathing deeply with concentration now.

It was when there was only an inch left to finish, that the Gotham City Museum of Science erupted into one of the worst alarms that Harley had ever heard in her life.  She stood abruptly and turned around just in time to see a red headed woman run out a door marked ‘Biochemistry’.

What had just happened?

Harley’s mouth dropped open in shock, but that was quickly replaced with panic, because the cops were now on their way and she needed to high tail it out of there.

“Oh, to hell with it!” she cried.

She pulled out a small hand gun and hit the glass case violently with the handle, shattering it.  Harley grabbed the diamond, shoved it in her bag, and took off after the red head, who for some reason, was heading straight for the front doors.

What was wrong with that broad?!

She caught up with woman at the same moment red and blue lights flashed brightly outside the double doors and three cops approached with flashlights and guns drawn.  Christ, they could be fast when they _wanted_ to be.

Harley nearly ran into the other woman, who had stopped right in front of the door.  She grabbed her arm and pulled the red head towards a hallway to take cover.

“Nice work butter fingers! Turn on the Bat-Signal next time!” Harley hissed at her.

“I wasn’t _trying_ to get caught! And don’t touch me!” retorted the woman yanking her hand out of Harley’s grip.  Her voice was lush and musical, even in an aggravated state.  

“Oh really, well you could have fooled me!  Bang up job with that alarm!”

Harley glared at her and something about the way she looked was familiar.  Even in the darkened museum it was clear that her hair wasn’t just red, it was _blood_ red, and it surrounded her heart shaped face in thick wavy curls.

Harley’s mind clicked.

“Hey! Aren’t you that plant lady?  Poison…Oaky…?”

That probably wasn’t right.

It was the other woman’s turn to glare now.

“ Ivy! It’s Poison Ivy, and you would do well to remember that!”

“Jeez, I’m sorry!”  Harley extended her hand in an apology.  There was really no need to be fighting; they both had to get out of this place before the cops grabbed them.  “I’m Harley Quinn! Please to meet you!”

Ivy glanced at her hand and then her face.  The ruffled look she had been wearing faded away.

The sound of footsteps echoed in front of them.

The cops had just got the front doors unlocked and were storming in. A pretty Hispanic officer yelled, “Come out with your hands up!” and pointed her Beretta 9mm in their general direction.

Both criminals bolted further down the hall and into a huge display room filled with the museums prehistoric collection and ducked behind a large statue of a Triceratops.  Surely, Gotham’s Finest wouldn’t start firing on such a peace loving dinosaur.

“This is not a good time to get acquainted.” muttered Ivy and she was right.

 

A powerful flashlight was circling around the room and another angry voice rang out, “Come out now, or we will shoot you!”

The two women moved quickly once again, bobbing and weaving through the legs of the statutes and massive skeletons.  They ran into another exhibit room, this one showcasing the artwork of ancient Africa and to their dismay found that it was a dead end.

Well shit.

This was no good.

They threw themselves behind an abstract carving of a man holding a spear and shield.  Peeking above it, the silhouettes of the officers stood in the doorway.  They had no way out and glanced at each other hopefully.

“Do you have any ideas?” asked Ivy.

Harley looked around frantically and for the first time noticed that Poison Ivy had been carrying a box with large bottles in it, all which were marked with a large ‘Biohazard’ warning.

“Whatcha got in there?” asked Harley, nodding her head towards the glass containers.

A smug sort of expression graced Ivy’s face, and she replied proudly, “Plant toxins from the lab… You see, they--” and her voice took on the kind of tone that a teacher has when they’re about to explain their favorite part of a lesson.

“Well that’s good enough!” Harley grabbed one of them, interrupting Ivy in mid-sentence.  Toxins plus biohazard warning equaled a reaction, and it probably wasn’t good if the bottle broke forcibly, which is actually what the jester was going to do with it. 

She pulled out her pistol, threw the bottle above the officers and fired a bullet at it, destroying it mid-air.  As soon as the foul looking liquid hit the ground it became vaporous.  The cops dropped to their knees in seconds, coughing, unable to keep the noxious gas from entering their lungs, and clutching at the cuts that the broken shards had caused.

Harley turned to Ivy and gave her a thumb up. 

The red head smiled at her and Harley felt her face blossom with warmth.

They sprang up from the shadows running towards the downed officers, and the female cop had the brass to cough out, “Stop in the name of the law!”  She was trying her damndest to get up off the floor.

“Not tonight, baby-cakes!” mocked Ivy as she ran passed, pushing the uniformed woman down for good measure.  Harley couldn’t stop the cheer that made its past her lips. Her fellow escapee seemed to have a sense of humor!

They made it out of the building quickly and into the parking lot.

“Get in the car, Harley!”

“What car are you talking about?”

The only cars that the little clown saw were the ones that the police had driven there in, and from the sound of it, more were on the way.

She ran after Ivy who was standing in front of a very large and awkward bush.  The green clad woman was smiling at her in a haughty manner, and Harley watched as she moved her hand over the plant and it simply fell apart into a pile of leaves, revealing a soft pink 1940 Special Convertible Sedan underneath it.

Harley stood there dumbfounded. 

How did that happen?

“Oh, _that_ car…” she said stupidly and jumped into the passenger seat like it was the most natural thing in the world.  As soon as she slammed the door shut, Ivy’s foot hit the accelerator.

She was a fearless driver and stomped on the gas pedal right as the next wave of black and whites pulled into the museums parking lot.  She didn’t make a move to turn her wheel as one of the vehicles headed straight for them, and Harley shrieked and dug her fingers into the tan leather interior.  The cop car made a hard right turn that sent the nose of it into the front of the building’s entrance. 

They had just played chicken and won.

Harley threw back her head to laugh, the sudden fear melting into relief, and Ivy soon joined her.

She locked her hands around the back of her head, elbows in the air and kicked her red and black boots up on the dashboard as Ivy shifted gears and sped up even faster.

 Harley didn’t really care they were going at the moment, she was content to let the other woman drive, and as an afterthought she pulled off her hood and let the wind blow through her flaxen hair.

The Gotham skyline was quickly retreating behind them and Harley felt a strange sense of peace, the one she always got after a successful crime, wash through her body.

Harley decided that she liked the other woman, at least for the moment, and that was enough for her to close her eyes and trust Ivy to take her away from the hot, dirty city.

End Part One.


	2. Chapter Two

 Title: Swing It Low: Chapter Two

Pairing:  Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Summary: A ‘what-if’ spin on the episode ‘Harley and Ivy’. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Characters © DC.

++++

Harley Quinn woke up feeling sick.

 It was a dirty sort of sick; she was hot and heavy with fever.  Her body felt like lead and it seemed unable or unwilling to move its slender frame away from the soft surface that was supporting it.  Her head was no better; indeed, most of the discomfort was coming from it and despite the fact that the room she found herself in was darkened an inky black, it felt as if she was spinning.

 It was at that moment that panic set in, because Harley had no earthly idea where she was or how she got there or why she felt like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.

 She shifted her back slightly and a wave of nausea backhanded her.  Her arm suddenly rebelled against the rest of her lazy body because it found its way to the front on her mouth in an attempt to halt what was bound to happen if left uncovered.

 She swallowed the rising bile down.

 This plain sucked, yes sir, it did.

 Harley was a nice girl, she didn’t deserve this.

 “Well…maybe…” she chuckled to herself.

 Yeah, the little jester definitely deserved this and probably more, but that was beside the point.

 She brought her hand across her face.  It felt sticky and wet, but it wasn’t entirely from the beads of sweat on her forehead.  She recognized the feeling of the face paint she wore and knew from its pasty texture that it was smeared and running.

 Her bangs were tickling her forehead, and the added annoyance was doing nothing to help her current state.  She wiped them back only to have them fall forward again.

 She shifted once more, and her stomach held in place this time, just barely.  She took it as an improvement and with a deep breath pushed herself up onto her elbows.

 It hurt and took more willpower then she would ever admit to anyone if asked.  She was embarrassingly weak and her mouth tasted like the inside of a dumpster.

 Harley blinked and squint her eyes and found that they had adjusted to the room.  It was no longer pitch black and she could make out that she was on a twin sized bed.  She was still dressed in her black and red costume although her shoes had been removed.

 Harley wiggled her feet against the soft fabric beneath them.

 Slowly and carefully she pushed her arms up until she was no longer leaning on them and was able to sit up straight.  Her head was screaming at her and pin-pricks of light danced in her vision, but Harley was _not_ going to lie down again and would deal with the oncoming headache the best she could.

 She slide her legs over the side of the bed and scooted her rear to the very edge.  She didn’t want to stand up just yet.  She still felt heavy.

 The thick smell of flowers were lingering in the air, covering her senses like a blanket.  She paused from her attempt to get her body moving and inhaled deeply.  It was an intoxicating; too sweet and too musky and made her think of sensuality, lust, and slow moving bodies mingled with soft laughter in darkened corners.

 “What the hell…” she muttered and reprimanded herself.

 With one deep breath and count of three later, she was standing on wobbly legs.

 The room was much easier to make out from this perspective.  In the darkness she could see a dresser with a TV sitting on its top directly in front of the bed.  To the left of her, there were windows with curtains drawn tight. A halo of soft light surrounded them.  It was early morning light.

 No wonder she was able to see now, even if it was only in shades of blue and grey.

 To the right was a door, the exit no doubt.

 That’s what she needed.

 She needed some answers.

 She needed to investigate.

 Harley took cautious steps towards the door.  As she did she saw her boots sitting neatly to the side of the frame and knew in the heartbeat that she wasn’t the one that had removed them.  There was nothing better, in her most humble opinion, then coming home after a long night of robbing and raging and simply _kicking_ ones shoes off and watching them land.

She had gotten quite good at aiming them too.  When she was in her finest form she could knock a glass of gin right out the hand of hired help that Mister J employed, who would do nothing more than blink stupidly at her when they realized what had just happened.

 Harley considered reaching for them, but the very idea of bending down made her stomach flip-flop.

 No, she could go with bare feet; shoes were not worth puking over at the moment.

She reached for the door knob instead; the coolness of the metal penetrating the thin material of her gloves, and opened the door, revealing the hallway of a one-story house, though once again the whole situation boggled her mind.

She hadn’t lived in a house since she was kid.  As soon as she had finished high school, she had transfer to an on- campus dorm at Gotham University, then a small apartment to start her internship at Arkham Asylum, and most recently, wherever the Joker decided would be a good place to hide out.

His affinity for abandoned amusement parks was downright creepy sometimes.

There were pictures on the walls, old ones, faded and yellow.  Harley held out her hand and ran it along the wall, more as a stabilizer than anything else.  She was drowning in another wave of nausea, and the hallway, with its sepia tinted family pictures, was the only thing keeping her up.

It wasn’t good enough though.  Her head dipped on its own accord and feet dragged against the rug. In one quick moment she tripped, and her hand caught one of the 5x7 frames, knocking it from the wall. It broke loudly.

Well that just tore it.

A girl could only take so much until there was a point where the frustrations came to a head, or in this case, to her eyes.  Harley felt hot tears run down her cheeks.  There was no sadness in them, just the burning rage that came with being helpless and confused.

A warm and pleasant voice broke through the sound of blood rushing around Harley’s ears.

“Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.”

Damn right it wasn’t.

No sir, this wasn’t Harley’s fault.

Not one bit of it.

Harley had been so focused on her own personal pity party that she completely neglected to pay attention to the unfamiliar surroundings of the home she was in, and missed the sound of footsteps coming up to her.

“You’re sick because you’re poisoned.”

The little blonde’s mouth dropped and looked up the red headed woman talking to her.  No.  She was talking _down_ to her, because Harley was still on her ass.

“You poisoned me?!”

Poison Ivy.

That’s right.

The museum, the diamond, the alarm being tripped and the escape from the Gotham City Police Department, it all hit Harley like a ton of bricks.

“I didn’t poison you!” Ivy looked infuriated at the idea and put her hands on her shapely hips.

“If I would have, you’d be quite dead!”

She then tossed her ruby red curls over her shoulder as to emphasize the point, and it seemed so snobbish that Harley wanted to reach up and strangle her.

“You just said-“

“I said that you were poisoned, not that I did it!  We’re on a toxic waste site; this place was closed by the Gotham Health and Safety Board years ago.”

Lies!

“Is that so?  Then why are you still standing there and not-“

Harley was once again interrupted by the other woman.

“Because I have immunity to it, none of fumes affects me.”

Her voice was softer now, and a tad more patient.  She knelt down in front of Harley, meeting her face to face.  Ivy’s eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald green and they threw Harley for a second, then she was met with the overwhelming smell of flowers once again.  Something uncoiled itself in her belly and went lower.

It was almost pleasant.

Almost… but not good enough for Harley to keep facing her, and she turned her head away in sheer annoyance.  There was nothing half as interesting as Ivy to look at though, so she let her eyes glare into the beige carpet.  Sure, it was boring, but it made Harley feel like she was slighting the plant lady by not staring at her face.

Poison Ivy could make money with that face.

However, Harley was not going to reward her with any attention until she started to act accommodating.

“I have something that will make you feel better.” Ivy said softly, like an owner talking to a new pet.

The blonde’s head perked up at those words.

“What sort of something?” snapped Harley. 

The other woman shrugged in an offhand way and the corners of her mouth twitched up in a small smile.  The action made Harley grit her teeth.

“Harley…”  Ivy’s tone was beckoning.

She sighed in defeat.

“Alright, just make me feel better.” Her voice was pathetic and small.

Poison Ivy made a move to help Harley to her feet, placing one hand on the side of the clowns arm, the other on her hip and pulled her up as the green clad woman stood.  The support was helpful, but Harley still flopped forward and was practically half carried down the hall way, and into the kitchen.

She was moved to a chair next to the table in the center of the tiled room.  There was a small Bunsen burner, a few bottles and mortar and pestle on it.  Ivy grabbed a white plastic box near the sink and then sat down next to her.

“Are you a chemist?”

Harley recognized the equipment; the Joker normally had a fair share of similar things close at hand.

“No, I’m a botanist.”

“Oh…”

Ivy reached for one of the bottles sitting on the table.  It was the only one filled with liquid and then pulled out a syringe from the plastic box that was resting on her lap.  The hypodermic needle on the end of it was quite impressive, and Harley had a pretty good idea of what method Ivy’s concoction was going to be administrated.

No way in hell.

“You didn’t say anything about a shot! I hate needles! I hate ‘em!”

It was the honest truth too.  Harley didn’t even have her ears pierced because of her fear of the things.

Ivy reached for her arm and tugged up the sleeve of her costume, ignoring her discomfort.  Her chilly hand felt good on the bare flushed skin of Harley’s wrist.

“Hush up now; if you’re going to stay here, then you’ll need my antidote.  I don’t know if you realize this, Harley, but you weren’t passed out that long, maybe an hour or so.”

Harley wiggled her feet and shook her head away, not wanting to the see injection into her arm.

The red head continued.

“Thirty more minutes’ tops and you would have been much worse than you are now.”

The prick into her vein was hot and quick.

“You’ll be feeling fine before you know it.  Just try not to move quickly for the time being.”

She pulled the syringe away and replaced the spot with a square of gauze.

“There, all done.”

“Do I get a lollypop now?”

Ivy ignored Harley’s sarcasm, stood and walked over to the sink, taking the first aid kit with her, and put it in the cabinet above the refrigerator, which she then opened and pulled out a bottle of water.   She placed it in front of Harley, once again taking her seat, this time straddling it the chair in a swift and confident move.

“Drink up, you’re terribly dehydrated.”

Harley sighed. 

This dame was weird.

It seemed to Harley that she had gone from a haughty diva to a concerned doctor in five minutes flat, and that annoyed the clown girl.  She dealt with enough moody people and even with the loveliness that was Mister J, it got old, but it was awfully nice of Ivy to help her out, and Harley wasn’t the type of girl to forgo manners.

“Thanks.”

The green clad woman smiled at her then, a full and honest smile and it was very pretty.  Her red mouth looked like flower petals.  Harley suddenly felt self conscious, because she knew that whatever she looked like at the moment, it wasn’t remotely attractive, due to the mix of sweat and smudged paint on her face.  She probably stunk too.  She had to catch her thoughts and wonder why she even cared about how she looked or smelled to the other woman.

She felt hot again though and drank down the water that was offered up.  It was cold and she swore she felt it working its way through her body.

“So, you’re a botanist, Ivy?  That’s a plant scientist, right?” asked Harley, keeping her tone light.

It was a stupid way to start a conversation, but Harley no longer wanted the simple silence of the kitchen, besides, she knew what a botanist was, but Ivy was staring at her icky face and not saying anything.  Poison Ivy had already proved that she had the sort of ego that enjoyed being stroked, and people like that often enjoyed talking about themselves, and Harley was used to being around people like that. The Joker was a perfect example.

“Why, yes I am.” the red head said in a matter of fact way.

Ivy shifted her hips in the chair, causing it to tip back and forth, in an effort to get comfortable.  She stretched, arching her back to do so and continued.

“I have a Ph.D. in the subject and used to work for a cosmetic company developing new fragrances for the perfume department.”

Harley nodded her head and matted her bangs back only to have them flop into her eyes again.

“Where did you go to school at?”

“I studied in Seattle, but after I earned my degree I transferred to Gotham University, and lectured there for some time.”

“That’s where I went!” Harley exclaimed.

She didn’t know why she was so excited to share that personal information with Ivy, who had now raised an eyebrow at the petite blonde.  Harley took it as a sign to continue.

“I never saw you there though, but I was always in psychology classes, so maybe that’s why!  I thought you looked familiar when I saw you last night, maybe I passed you on the way to the library or something!”

Ivy tilted her chair once more, the back legs coming off the ground and landing lightly. 

“No, I don’t believe that’s why you recognize me.”

She had a smile on her face again; this one was a bit darker than the one she had just favored Harley with earlier.  She once again tossed her fiery locks and continued.

“How old are you, Harley?”

The question took the clown girl by surprise.  What age had to do with the conversation they were having, she had no clue, but decided to answer anyway.

“I’m 25.”

“Ah.  Well then, I was already serving my first term in Arkham Asylum when you were in school.  I’m sure I was also serving a second sentence when you graduated.  Of course, I _know_ you’re familiar with Arkham, aren’t you… _Dr. Quinzel_?”

Harley had been mid drink when Poison Ivy had said that name and she almost chocked on the water and dropped the bottle.  It felt like it had been years since anyone had referred to her as ‘Doctor’ or ‘Harleen Quinzel’.

That name and title belonged to a life she didn’t live anymore, and it was a life that hadn’t really mattered anyway. 

Her life before the Joker didn’t matter.

However, she couldn’t help feeling shocked, and slightly pleased that Ivy knew who she was (at least once upon a time) and Harley knew she looked like a deer in headlights.  She was blushing underneath the running, goopy face paint and her heart pounded in her chest.

“How did you…?”

The plant lady shook her head and chuckled, then waved her hand as a sign of dismissal.

“Well of course I know who you are! You helping the Joker escape Arkham will probably go down in the record books!  I think every inmate was rooting for you that day, well no. Not _you_ , of course, but for the Joker.  But I’m sure every inmate was wishing that _you_ had been assigned their psychologist!”

Ivy threw back her head and laughed loudly.

It was a laugh of true amusement, and Harley decided that she liked hearing it, it reminded her of bells.

But it was slightly distracting at the moment because Harley was racking her brain and trying to remember the case files she had looked through while she was interning at Arkham.  The Joker had taken her priority as soon as she had seen him through that glass door in the maximum security block, smiling at her and looking handsome.

However, now that she thought about, she did in fact remember the day that Dr. Leland, her mentor and boss, took her aside and made her read about the _other_ inmates at the Asylum, the ones that the Batman had caught, the rest of the crazies and murderers.  Leland had patted her hand right before laying down the heavy files in front of her and said some stuff about ‘ _charming_ ’, ‘ _liars_ ’ and ‘ _stab you right in the back_ ’.  (None of which had applied to Mister J, thank you very much!)

Harley had done what she had been told and flipped through them all, reading some, but ignoring others, because a man with a top hat fetish held no interest for her, neither did the guy with the question marked green jacket.

It was when she was almost completely through the pile that she opened up the manila envelope that had the mug shot of the red headed woman and she stopped, because, well she was the first female that Harley had seen in the records. 

She had gotten about half way through with the lengthy report, when she was called away from her office, and when she had returned there were copious amounts of paperwork on top of more paperwork, and that had been that.  Arkham was always so understaffed.

“I remember you now!”

“Do you?” Ivy raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together, openly satisfied with Harley’s response.

“Well, when I saw you at the museum I knew you were that crazy plant lady, but I couldn’t remember _who_ you were, if you know what I mean! But yeah, you’re Pamela Isley!  You got sent to Arkham for trying to kill off that D.A., the one that got his face half blown off!”

Harley felt proud and gave Ivy a big smile. 

It was clear that Ivy wasn’t impressed by her memory at all however.

“I’m not crazy! And Harvey Dent had it coming!”

Ivy’s sweet voice had taken on a venomous edge, and she stood up in a sharp, rigid manner and walked into the adjoining living room.  There was no wall between the two spaces, and the only way to tell that one was leaving the kitchen and going into the common room was the tile floor changing into the plain carpet, the same color as the stuff in the hallway.

It was the first time Harley had noticed the back of a couch and a seemingly unending number of plants.  Some were against the white walls and shelving that was nailed to them, others were on window sills and Harley even bet that if she could see the front of that couch (it looked mighty comfortable, even from behind) that some of leafy things were resting on its plush cushions.

They were all very happy and healthy looking plants and all seemed to have been lovingly tucked into their individual pots.

Ivy had walked over to a particular one, a small rose bush, and was moistening it with a spray bottle.  Her back looked tense, her motions stiff.

Harley began to feel something akin to guilt rising in her belly.  She hadn’t intended to make the other woman feel bad.  She was getting used to being referred to as ‘crazy’, and it never crossed her mind to become angry about it.  Poison Ivy, on the other hand, seemed to detest the word.

“Look, I’m sorry…”

Ivy continued to water the rose bush, ignoring her.

Her guilt turned to anger.

She didn’t like being treated as if she was invisible.

Well, that was fine.  If that was how Ivy was going to act then Harley wasn’t going to stick around, after all, she had already expressed her gratitude.  Plus she had things to do, a lot of things, like deciding how to best brag to the Joker about how she stole his precious diamond all by herself.  Oh yes, and the teeth she had plucked away.  They had some great potential to become one fancy necklace, if Harley cleaned and polished them. 

The babies might like them too, she bet she could fashion them into a set of collars. Bud and Lou would look so elegant with the pretty white things around their furry necks.

She stood and was quite surprised to find that she was walking down the hallway with little discomfort.  Whatever Ivy had pumped into her was working miracles.  She no longer felt like she was on the edge of throwing up and bent down to pick her shoes up easily.  Harley sat on the bed to put them on and was happy to see her bag was on the nightstand.  She opened it quickly to make sure the diamond was still inside, along with the rest of her belongings.  Ivy didn’t seem like a thief, but Harley had to remind herself that she had met the other woman in the middle of _stealing_ things.  Everything was still in place though.

She turned to leave the room and came to face Ivy, who was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her breasts.

“What are you doing?” Ivy demanded.

Harley clenched her fists.

“What does it look like?” she asked dryly.

The red head’s eyebrows shot up and she crossed her arms tighter, giving her even more cleavage then she was already blessed with.  She then bit her lip and glared hard at the other woman.

“Why?”

Harley was taken aback by Ivy’s sheer audacity and considered telling her one of two things. The first being because she was acting like a _bitch_ , the second being because she was acting _stuck up_. That led to the third option of telling Ivy that she was acting like a _stuck up bitch_. However, she settled on:

“…Because I have things to do and places to go.”

Ivy still did not move out of her way and was shooting her a sour look.

“And how are you going to do that?  You have no idea where you are and you have no vehicle. Are you going to walk all the way back to Gotham, because, honey, I can tell you that we’re so off the beaten trail…” each word dripped with contempt and ridicule. Verbal bullets.

“Are you threatening me?!” spat Harley and took a step forward.  She still felt rickety, but if Ivy wanted a physical altercation, she may be able to bluff her way out of it by raising her voice.  Harley doubted she had enough strength at the moment to land a decent hit be it with her fists or a weapon.

Ivy was peering at her with the eyes of a predator.  Harley returned her glower and tension settled around the both of them, neither giving any ground.  After a few strained seconds, Ivy shrugged, dulling the edge that had hung in the air.

“All I was saying…” continued Ivy with boredom.

“All I was saying is that I know how to steal a car!” snapped Harley and added mentally, _I’m planning to steal yours as soon as I walk outside._

She took another step forward brushing past Ivy and into the hallway.  The contact lingered uncomfortably along the side of her body.  She was nearly back to the kitchen when she heard: “I’m not crazy.  Don’t even let that cross your mind.”

It was so final and Harley stopped dead in her tracks.  Maybe she was being too rash.  Maybe they both were, and Harley took a breath to steady her voice.  She didn’t want to sound angry, because she wasn’t.  She felt drained and a misplaced sense sympathy for Ivy.

“Well you’ve said that already and I told you I was sorry.  And I get it, you ain’t crazy.”

The clown girl turned around and suddenly got the impression she was talking to wall because Ivy was continuing a conversation that Harley didn’t realize they were having.

“I’ll tell you what’s crazy; the way humanity abuses the natural world’s resources, now that’s crazy!  Do you know what he did?  Do you know what Dent did?”

Ivy gave Harley no time to answer (she didn’t know what the plant lady was going on about anyway) because Ivy was stalking towards her, grabbing her wrist and sharply tugging her into the living room.  The motion was jerky and it was a reminder to Harley that not an hour ago, she was feeling sickly.  The ghost of dizziness graced her head once again.

Ivy dropped her hand and picked up the rose bush that she had been watering earlier.

“Do you see this?  The Wild Thorny Rose!  This flower is the very last of its kind, thanks to Dent!  He plowed the field that its species that had been growing in for years! Do you know why?!  To build Stonegate Penitentiary!  Ha!  A ‘better and safer Gotham’, he said, isn’t that laughable?  How was that monstrously worth extinction?  Stonegate is nothing but a testament to the failing justice system and mankind’s own selfish whims! ”

Ivy’s cheeks had grown flushed as she spoke and she was starting to pace with her precious little plant in hand.

“You see, they should have just let me kill Dent!  He was already a murderer before he became a mutilated freak, and think of all the people who have suffered with him as Two-Face!  But no, I turned out to be the bad guy?  I was avenging innocents!”

“I avenged a whore a few nights ago.” replied Harley hoping the comment would break Ivy’s tirade.

Poison Ivy continued with little notice.  Watching Ivy grow as animated as she was had been almost inspiring, and the blond felt like she was getting a sample of what the woman’s lectures at the University had been like, and she sort of wished that she had been able to attend them, even if she cared very little for the flora and fauna of the world.

It was rare to see such crazed passion.  The Joker possessed it, and it seemed Poison Ivy did too and for some reason that thought did not sit well with Harley, although she couldn’t guess why.

She was close enough to the couch now to see her earlier assumptions about it being covered with flower pots was correct.  The middle cushion was cleared off though and Harley took a seat there.   In the back of her mind, she knew her plan to return of the city was put on hold.  The decision had been brash anyway, perhaps even a bit immature, but Harley could admit that she was not without her faults.

It would be better to wait until nightfall anyway.  Harley knew that if she walked outside, even with it being late morning that Gotham’s disgusting summer heat would beat down on her.  Besides, Ivy was right, she really had no clue how far away from the city she actually was, and although it had been mentioned that their location was condemned, she couldn’t recall anything about such area existing on the news or in books.

The blond crossed her legs and brought her hands upon her knees.  Harley didn’t want to be dressed in her costume anymore, but didn’t have a change of clothing, and hoping her question wouldn’t be lost on Ivy, who was now on the grand topic of rain forests, opened her mouth.

“Pam, you got a change of clothes I can wear?”

Ivy stopped mid-sentence and glanced down at Harley like she had forgotten she was there, or more likely, as if no one had dared referred to her by her real name in ages.  Harley felt some satisfaction that she managed to make Ivy feel the same way that Ivy had made her feel with the early decision about Arkham.

“What?”

Harley brought her hands up behind her head and popped her back trying to look casual.

“I just feel so gross!  I mean, look at me!” she gestured to her face, the paint and sweat-dried hair. “And I think I can smell myself over these plants, it’s just disgusting, don’t you think?”

She looked up and offered Ivy a big toothy grin. She pleaded with any god that would listen that Poison Ivy wouldn’t get snarky with her and would just give up something clean to walk around in.  Harley was in no mood for any more conversation with this woman, and hoped that her lackadaisical attitude would be enough for Ivy to dismiss her.  It worked with the Joker, after all.

Ivy put down the flower pot with the care of a mother to her child and placed her hands once more on her hips.  It seemed to be a common pose of relaxation for her.  Light was now pouring through the windows of the living room, silhouetting the red head, emphasizing her hour glass figure.

Harley felt heat creeping up her cheeks and dropped her face down, grinning at the floor instead and feeling like an idiot.

“There’s probably something in the dresser of that room you were in.”

Harley hopped out of her position, happy to quell the strange butterfly effect in her tummy.  It had to be the lingering bits of the earlier sickness.

“You’ll find the shower on your left and towels in the closet.”

“Thanks!” she exclaimed, making her way back down the hall and into her room.  As soon as she closed the bedroom door, Harley let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.  

 End Part Two.


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Swing It Low: Chapter Three

Pairing:  Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Summary: A ‘what-if’ spin on the episode ‘Harley and Ivy’. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Characters © DC.

++++

Harley Quinn pushed aside dress shirt after dress shirt in the plain wooden bureau, annoyed with the lack of selection concerning her garment choices.  She was tearing through the neatly pressed apparel, when she finally sighed in defeat, snatched the nearest white button-up shirt and tossed it on the bed behind her.  

She was frustrated without knowing the précis reason and the loose cotton was going to feel a hundred times better then the skin-sticking latex.  Harley peddled around her room for a few moments, turning the TV on, off and back on, and then opened the curtains, letting buttery light spill into the room.  It was mid-morning, and the yellow sun was filtered through hazy clouds.  There were buildings outside her window, the shapes of one-story homes, but the glass was filthy, stained gray with dust and neglect.  Harley dragged her knuckles over the panes, but they didn’t clear.  It was the outside of the window that was so grimy, a curious contrast to the interior, which seemed so spotless.  Harley could see Ivy being obsessive about keeping her environments clean, her personality screamed control freak, even in such a desolate location.

And it was desolate.  She didn’t need a clear view of the outside neighborhood to know they were the only ones inhabiting the suburb.  It was apparent by sound alone, for there was none.  It was still and disturbingly quiet, like a graveyard and Harley had the passing and laughable thought of the whole place being haunted by ghastly plant-like children.

She turned away from the window and let the anxiety she felt sink into her bones.  She wanted to both make conversation with the eco-terrorist in the living room and completely ignore her.  Harley felt foolish about being so awkward around a woman she had just met, but it was nice to around anyone, another female no less, who was part of the same criminal fraternity as she.  It had been such a long time since she had a friend, not since she worked at Arkham and even then, the other staff had been older then her and just took things so seriously.  That somber lifestyle wouldn’t have suited Harley at all, better now to live as freely as she wanted, even if it was on the wrong side of the law.

Poison Ivy was a bit too serious herself, but at least she had personality, an infuriating and domineering personality, but it was character none the less.  Harley regretted not reading her file now because surely her case study would have been fascinating.

She heard soft footsteps walking down the hallway, steady and firm and then a door shutting. _Good_ , thought Harley.  Ivy must have gone to her own room, lowering the chance that the blond would run into her on the short trip to the shower.  She grabbed the shirt and dashed over to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.  Harley dropped her head and took a breath.  She had used an absurd amount of energy for such a mundane task and she had to reprimand herself for not heeding Ivy’s earlier warning about moving quickly.  It had been irrational and now she was paying for it, her skin prickly and chest heavy.  This was the fading reminder of the toxic ingestion from earlier.   

She stripped and showered, taking extra care to wash away the streaked makeup off of her round cheeks.  The cosmetics usually made her feel powerful, dangerous and quite spirited, but right now, Harley just couldn’t shake the feeling of foolishness and a sense of embarrassment; Ivy’s bright green eyes burning into her brain and watching her, had been openly staring.

Harley flushed and that earlier stomach dropping sensation returned, starting right between her breasts, creeping down past her belly button and settling between her thighs.

She scrubbed at her face harder and then turned the facets forcibly to cut the water off.  

Harley stepped out, wrapped a relativity new towel around her shoulders and picked up her rumbled clothing from the floor.  They smelt slightly sweaty and bloody too; she’d really have to wash the costume soon.  The blond bit her bottom lip, and opened the door a crack to glance down the hall.  There was another room down the hall, the master probably, and its door was opened just a fraction, but that must have been enough to alert Ivy that Harley was finished, because the redhead opened the door all the way and leaned against the frame, looking at Harley with a curious expression.  Her eyes seemed to be darting back to the blonde’s face and the carpet, in what Harley would have almost called hesitation, but that seemed unlikely. 

 

“I’m done.” said Harley, stating the obvious and tightening the towel around her body, thankful that the fluffy piece of material hit her knees.  She felt bashful all of a sudden, and did not want to be exposed, which was ludicrous; she was used to running around in skin tight things that left nothing to the imagination.  

She closed the bathroom door and began walking across the hall, congratulating herself that she had worked up the nerve, but also berating herself for even feeling intimidated by this woman once more.

She was just about to reach her room when Ivy spoke up.

“Harley, I want to apologize, I may have lost my temper with you.”

The plant lady walked over to where Harley had stopped, hand mid-air about to turn the doorknob, and met her eyes.  The jester was shocked, both by the admittance of wrong doing, but also by Ivy’s choice of wording.   _May have lost my temper_ was facetious understatement, but Harley let it go.  She wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight over some half-assed apology. 

So instead Harley just smiled and said, “It’s alright, it happens to everyone.  I mean, we just met, so we ain’t gonna know each other’s limits yet.”

Poison Ivy just nodded, but something in her face relaxed, something Harley hadn’t noticed before, but before she could study the change, Ivy turned to the now vacant bathroom.

“Why don’t you take some time to relax, Harley, I think that the antidote I gave you won’t take full effect for a few hours.  I bet you’re still feeling…” Ivy paused then, and turned to look at Harley over her shoulder.  While she was speaking, Ivy had been removing her green leather gloves, and Harley had found that fascinating.  Poison Ivy had slender fingers and prefect looking nails.

“How are you feeling exactly?”  Ivy had just taken on that same tone as earlier, when she had first given Harley the antitoxin, the one that would have been more fitting for a teacher or doctor, not some psychotic criminal on a one woman mission to save the earth.

Harley gathered her towel around her body tighter, “I feel… just a little tired I guess.  When I move to fast though, I feel like I have a fever, or like I just wanna puke.” 

Ivy made a small noise under her breathe and nodded once more, as if a mental note was being taken. “Well last night was busy, so that’s probably why.  When you wake up, we can talk about…” and then Ivy trailed off, though after a moment she added “We’ll talk more.”  And that seemed to be the end of their discussion.  The redhead closed the bathroom door behind her, leaving Harley naked save for a towel, standing in the hallway.

++++

Harley did go lay down after she changed into the shirt she had dug out of the dresser, but not because Poison Ivy had told her too.  She certainly wasn’t going to listen to some person she had just met, even if it did _seem_ like they knew what they were talking about.  She had actually gone through the contents of her room once more before giving up on finding any underwear in the drawers, but didn’t dwell on it too much.  The shirt was long and thick enough to cover any secrets that she may have wanted to keep hidden, and she buttoned it all the way to the top.  The sudden interest in modesty was off character for Harley, and she sneered at the tight feeling around her neck.

“All women look the same naked.  She just has bigger tits then you.”  And with that, Harley undid the shirt down to open comfortably around her cleavage, silently cursing puberty for giving her the perfect body for an acrobat, but not for… “Whatever.”

She flopped onto the bed and started watching the television absent mindedly, and was met with nothing but boring local channels; the news station was uplifting however.  She and Ivy had made the top story and Harley sat right up and turned the volume high.

That agitating newswoman, Summer Gleeson, was going about tuning into _Gotham Live_ tonight for the whole story, but the program kept playing a grainy loop of surveillance footage from the museum.  It showed a blurry Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy running out the main hall and knocking over the cops that had attempted to stop them.  Harley couldn’t help it; she started to laugh at the image.

Harley was used to being mentioned in reports as an accomplish to the Joker, but this was the very first time that she was given the honor of a _whole_ news story, sure she was sharing it with Ivy, but that didn’t bother her at all.  They were being mentioned as possible partners in crime by Gleeson, but Harley knew she had planned out the thief of the diamond all by herself; running into the bioterrorist had just been a coincidence.  

_Gotham Live_ didn’t need to know that however and neither did anyone else.

And now the Joker knew what had transpired, he was in the habit of watching the news constantly.  There was always a television or radio playing in the background at all the hideouts he preferred, just in case some piece of information perked up his interests.

Surely a story about Harley would get the gears in his head turning.  At least she hoped so, just thinking of the Joker made her feel confused because she missed him, but Harley was still had to prove her worth, not just to him, but to everyone in Gotham as well.

She turned off the television, eager to tell Ivy about the report, but stretched back on the bed instead.  The light pouring through the windows was diffused, and the warmth felt heavy, but pleasant.  The house was old, however the air conditioner clearly worked, and Ivy had the temperature set low, making the weight of the sunlight even more inviting.  Harley turned onto her side and closed her eyes, finally taking Ivy’s suggestion for rest.

++++

Harley wasn’t sure what time she woke up but her internal clock was pointing in the direction of late evening.  She felt refreshed, but also very relaxed and rolled over on to her back listening to the quiet hum on the AC unit.  She would have been willing to doze off again, but her nose caught the smell of something delectable filling the air and her stomach let out a groan that told Harley in very simple terms that she had not eaten in a _really_ long time.

Harley hopped out of bed and walked into the kitchen area to find Poison Ivy stirring something in a pan and wearing a short tee-shirt that was barely covering her ass.

“You awake?” she asked bring the wooden spoon to her mouth to taste whatever she was cooking.

“Ah… yeah.” replied Harley, walking over to where the redhead was standing to look her shoulder.  A mix of vegetables was shimmering in a red sauce.  “Whatcha cooking?”

Ivy tossed her crimson hair; it smelt good, a mix of citrus and vanilla.  Harley didn’t recall the shampoo or soap in the shower smelling like that.

“Curry.  I went out while you slept and grabbed some groceries.”

“Oh… Thanks.”

Ivy turned to look at her and smiled.

“It’s fine.  My cupboards were completely bare anyway.  There’s some rice in that cabinet, put some in the cooker for me?”  Ivy made a motion with her hand directing Harley towards her task.  “Do you like your food spicy?”

“Sure.  I’m so hungry right now; anything you make will be great.”  She measured out a cup of rice and put the lid on the steamer, happy to be helping Ivy with dinner.  Harley honestly was grateful that the other woman had gone out and gotten food.  She leaned against a counter top and watched Ivy add an assortment of spices to the pan.  The blond then remembered the television cast from earlier.

“Oh, guess what?  We made the top story tonight on _Gotham Live_!  Let’s watch it when it comes on, what time is it anyway?” she was unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, her tone light and quick.  She brought her hands together in a light clap.

Ivy turned fully to look at Harley, her expression pleasantly surprised, with one curved eyebrow raised.  “Really?  It’s almost 8:00 by the way.  Yes, we’ll have to tune in. It comes on at 10:00.  You know, I picked up a newspaper while I was out, but I haven’t looked through it yet.  It’s on the couch if you’re interested, the _Time_ s may have written an article about the heist.”

“Oh, boy!”  Harley skipped over to the couch and scooped the paper up and began to thumb through the thin pages, until she came across a small column about the crime. “I found it!”  She moved to sit at the kitchen table and flattened out publication.

“Read it to me?” asked Ivy, checking on the rice.

“Ok, it says…” Harley skimmed through the article, picking out the important parts. “… Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley, alias Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, were spotted Wednesday night during a break in at the Gotham Museum of Natural History.  The Harlequin Diamond, a blue Peruzzi cut diamond, and a number of rare plant toxins were taken during the crime.  The GPD arrived quickly, but several officers are in critical care.  Authorities are asking the public for any information on the whereabouts of both women…” Harley paused and then added “They think we’re working together now.”

“Well, that’s not surprising; we _were_ both at the museum. The GCPD are simple and look for simplest answers.  But, I did get lucky running into you, Harley.”

“Why?” Harley was genuinely curious and her heart beat a little faster at Ivy’s words.

“It was easier to make a break when the cops showed up.  I was clumsy to trip that alarm.  You definitely helped to get us out of there, and I thank you for that.  I’m not going back to Arkham any time soon.”

Harley flushed and then looked down back to the paper.  “No problem.  I’m just a good aim.” And she pointed her index finger and thumb to represent a gun.  She felt so happy, first the news report and now verbal acknowledgement.  The Joker hardly ever thanked her for anything, but he was a terribly busy man, and Harley accepted that.

She started to wonder what he was busy with now, but Ivy announced, “Food’s ready.”  The redhead had already made a plate and was sitting down across from Harley.  The blond lived up to her claims of being hungry and felt no shame with piling rice and vegetables on to her plate and digging right in.  Ivy seemed to pick at her food more than eat it however.

“Hey, this is really good!”

Ivy nodded her thanks and the two continued to eat comfortable silence for some time.  It was only when they were both finished that Ivy spoke.

“Harley, why did you want to steal that diamond from the museum?  No offense or anything, but that sort of item doesn’t seem like it would interest you.”

“It doesn’t.  I just wanted to take it before Mister J did.”

“What?” asked Ivy.  She was in the process of taking both of their plates to the sink, but stopped and fixed Harley with a hard stare.

Harley ignored the desire to sink down into her chair and started to quickly explain.  “He kicked me out and said I had screwed up his heist, but it wasn’t my fault!  It was the Bats; he chased us all over town!  And then he told me to leave, so I did, and I decided to get that stupid diamond myself, just to rub it in his face!  And now I got it, and he doesn’t, so I win! And now he’ll just _have_ to take me back!”

She took a breath and looked anywhere other than where Ivy was standing.  The water stains on the ceiling were suddenly very interesting.

“So, you risked life and limb _just_ to get back into his good graces?” harsh judgment dripped from every word.

Harley’s silence was a good enough answer and the blond knew it.  When asked like that, her actions did seem moronic, but the jester was impulsive, which worked for and against her.  She didn’t regret stealing the diamond, but Ivy was making her feel childish for the reasoning. 

Harley had only wanted to impress the most remarkable man she had ever met, she _needed_ his approval.  It was alright that Ivy didn’t understand this, but somehow her incredulous stare was making the blond girl feel... almost ashamed.

“I… uh…”

Ivy put the dishes in the sink, the ceramic hitting the steel sounding far too loud in such small space.

Harley opened her mouth, but knew that she would only stutter out some lame excuse, attempt to save face in front of this woman, but she found she had nothing to say.

Ivy turned around and sat in front of Harley again.  She was unreadable, her emerald eyes smoldering with _something_ , and she picked up her glass and swirled the melting ice cubes in it.  She eventually picked one up and slid it between her lips, the condensation making them glossy. 

Harley bit down on her own bottom lip hard, and tried not to stare, but for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why Ivy’s wet mouth was distracting.

“Can I see it?”

Harley glanced up.

“See what?”

Ivy was chewing on more ice, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.  Her loose shirt had slipped an inch down her rosy shoulder.  Her voice was back to its normal tone, warm and inviting, and Harley realized that Ivy was trying to make her feel comfortable once more.

“I want to see this diamond you stole.  It must be something special.  I’m a botanist, as I told you, but my interests cover everything that comes from the natural world.”

Harley nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.  Ivy had let her off the hook. “It’s in my bag, I’ll go grab it.” And she downright skipped to her room and back again, the diamond heavy in her palm.  She handed it over to Ivy without thought, absolutely feeling no attachment to the priceless rock.

Ivy held it up and turned it from side to side, one thin finger resting on her chin, deep in thought, examining the stone with keen eyes.

“It’s beautiful.  What do you think he wanted with it?” Ivy eventually asked.

Harley shrugged, “I don’t know.  Mister J, he just sometimes just likes to take things.  He thinks it’s a fun game, getting the GCPD and the Bat all ruffled up.”

There was a pause from Ivy.

“It’s the same shade of blue as your eyes.”

Harley felt another wave of burning heat spread though her cheeks, right to the tips of her ears.  She didn’t know if it was just a statement, or an actual compliment, but the blond couldn’t stop her hands from fidgeting, smoothing down the hem of her shirt, and glancing down at her bare feet.

And Ivy did seem to be waiting for some sort of answer.  

Harley decided on the safest response:  complete avoidance.

“Is it almost time for that show?”

Ivy blinked at the subject change, but nodded.

“In about twenty minutes.

“Cool.” Harley replied and walked over to the plant laden couch. “Do you think it would be ok for me to move some of these guys?”  The little blond was not going to touch one of Ivy’s precious plants without permission; the other woman was proving to be just plain _weird_ about her greenery.  She did want to sit next to the red head during the broadcast though.

Ivy considered it for a moment and then finally said, “That would be fine.  I’ll help you.” and she got up from the table setting the diamond down gently.  Apparently Ivy helping Harley with the ferns meant that the clown-girl was to stand by and watch the process, as every time she tried to pick a pot up, Ivy shot her a look that said, _No, these are mine, not yours._

Harley was certain that if she had been allowed to help, moving the damn things off the couch would have taken five minutes flat, but it took right up to the dramatic opening credits of _Gotham Live_ before each of the plants had found a new home on the floor,  shelves and window panes.  The blond felt excited as Summer Gleeson’s smile flooded the screen of the TV (even as Harley shoved the urge away to slap it off her face) and the newscaster’s professional voice filled the room.

Harley settled onto the plush cushions, and Ivy followed suit, though she didn’t seen quite as interested in the program as Harley was, after all Gleeson was reporting on something that both women knew about in greater detail then the news anchor ever could.  The exposé went into a brief criminal history about them both (Ivy’s was significantly longer then Harley’s) and then showed more of the museum footage.  The police officer that Ivy had pushed downed, whom Harley learned was named Renee Montoya, was interviewed.  Her pretty face was sporting a nasty bruise on one side and delicate looking cuts marred her smooth forehead.  The eco-terrorist actually chuckled and ran a quick lick across her lips when Montoya was talking about the encounter, taking great joy in the officer’s injuries.  Harley couldn’t help but glance at her as the rich, yet cruel vibration trickled from Ivy’s throat.  It was a chilling sound and Harley found that it was difficult to concentrate on the program after that.

They watched _Gotham Live_ through to the end, but the second half of the show wasn’t nearly as entertaining as the first.  Apparently, Jonathan Crane had been let out of Arkham Asylum early due to good behavior, and a panel of experts was debating whether or not the same laws should be applied to criminals like _him_ , versus the ones in Stonegate Penitentiary.  Harley thought the growing argument on the TV was very engrossing, the lawyers and physiologists were getting down right mean and practically screaming at each other.

Harley personally _liked_ Professor Crane, he was mighty polite to her, but there was no way in hell she would have ever signed off on an early release for that guy.  Despite being kind to her (as much as a The Scarecrow could be) he clearly loved tormenting things with a ruthless glee that boarded on perversion.

Poison Ivy must not have been as impressed by the spectacle on _Gotham Live_.  During the last fifteen minutes, she decided to start babying one of her plants that had been sitting on the floor, by putting the damn thing in her lap and stroking its long leaves like a normal person would a cat’s back, light and full of affection.  She would have probably started to coo to it, if Harley hadn’t been sitting right next to her.

_Gotham Live_ came to a very anti-climatic end with everyone seeming to agree to disagree.  Harley had been hoping for a chair or at least a punch to be thrown, but as the credits rolled and the next show came on, she couldn’t help but ponder the woman next to her, still rolling a gentle finger over the fern in her lap, who had only moments ago had chuckled in cold delight in the harm that she had caused the GPD officer.

Ivy put the plant down slowly and turned off the television.

“You were done watching it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, ain’t much on now. Getting late, I guess.”

Ivy said nothing, but was staring at Harley for some damn reason, and the blond wanted her to stop.  She finally opened her mouth and said, “You’re very different without that make-up.  I didn’t realize you would look so young.  At Arkham, it seemed you were a real professional, with those round glasses and your hair in a bun.  You were just playing at it, weren’t you?”

Ivy said these things with no venom, she was musing out load, and Harley took no offence at basically being called a dangerous child who was acting the way she thought society told her too; a little girl dressing up in mommy’s clothing and playing pretend.  She took no offence because the jester knew she had overcome that.   She wanted Ivy to know that too.

“Yeah, I just wanted to be something.  Prove that I could be smart, I guess.  Psychologists are considered very smart.” she said in a small voice.  No one had ever really thought she was _smart_ before, only very pretty and therefore stupid.  “I guess, I turned out more…” and Harley trailed off.

Ivy tilted her head, a curtain of crimson hair brushing her face and shoulders, clearly in thought.  There was silence, as if Ivy was considering what to say next.  Harley looked at her and then out the dark windows, which were clean and clear, unlike her bedroom.  _She wants sunlight for the plants.  Of course she does._ Harley broke from that thought, looking at the moon, and the sky.  It was not like the hazy, dirty Gotham nights, the light pollution too heavy for the stars.  She suddenly wanted to walk around this abandoned place and explore.

“You know, Harley…”

Ivy’s voice cut through the lull.  Harley tore her eyes away from the window and was brought down to earth.

“Sometimes, it’s better to be clever and resourceful, then to be just plain smart.”

Harley thought about the statement and threw her back and laughed. “But ain’t clever and smart the same thing?  Come on, Red!”  And the endearment just flew from her lips, because Ivy’s comment seemed so absurd, and delightful.

“Red?” Ivy said it like she as if tasting the word to see if it was sweet or sour, compliment or insult.

“Cause of your…” Harley then motioned to her own straight platinum locks, which were lovely enough, but not vibrant and curled.

Ivy cracked a small smile.

“That’s one of the nicer things I’ve been called in the last few years.”

Harley laughed again, and drew her knees up to once again sit with her legs crossed, but not before tugging the long shirt between her knees.  She wanted to face Ivy and continue talking, the conversation coming easier now.  “Anyway, smart and clever, it _is_ the same thing.  And I think you just called me dumb!  If I’m not smart then I must be dumb!”  She was still smiling, not hurt or angry.

Ivy shook her head and replied “Being smart can be dull.  Being clever, now that’s being as sharp as a knife, and being dangerous too, and you’re those things.  Wasn’t the diamond surrounded by some sort of laser security system?  I saw that the room was glowing when I walked near it, but didn’t bother to look in.  How did you get past it, Harley? ”

“Oh, I, uh, just jumped over them.”  Harley then brought her hand up and bobbed it up and down, a poor imitation of the leaps and lands that she was so good at.  Ivy regarded her and nodded her head, understanding that Harley meant more than just hopping in place, or skipping rope, though the jester still added, “Gymnastics have always been what I’m good at.  I just got the build for it.”  The blond found that she was mentally comparing herself to Ivy’s round and curvy body, and feeling jealous over how womanly she was.  The bioterrorist remind Harley of old Gil Elvgren paintings, where the girls were always posed perfectly and their soft faces puckered up in red pouts.

“Hm, yes, I can agree with that.  You look light as a feather and dainty too.”

“Hey now!  I can take a hit _and_ dish them out!” her tone was teasing, but Ivy needed to know that this was a very true claim, and she couldn’t fight the sudden hostility that was creeping into her voice.  She wasn’t weak.

Poison Ivy raised her hands in mock defense, and her lips were turned up at the corners, amused by the reaction and unconcerned.  “I never said you couldn’t, and I don’t doubt you.”  She let her limbs relax once again, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other resting in her lap. “When I consider what you’ve done, no, I don’t doubt you at all.”

Harley lowered her eyes and let a sheepish grin take over her mouth, the sudden agitation evaporating as quickly as it came.  “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling, Harley?” asked Ivy suddenly.

The blond perked up and thought about the question, finding that she hadn’t felt the earlier sickness in quite a long time. “I feel really good.” She answered honestly.  Harley paused, wondering if she should be going back to Gotham.  Poison Ivy was being generous now, but the blond didn’t want to push her luck, remembering the outburst of yesterday. “You know, if you want me to leave tomorrow, I’m pretty sure I can manage.  Don’t want to put you out no more…”

“You’re not putting me out at all.”

“Well, the Joker, he’s probably wondering where I am…” Harley wanted this to be so true, but her heart doubted.  She pushed the feeling down.  _No,_ she thought, _he does miss me, because without his Harley, he can’t do anything, like find his stupid socks._

“I simply don’t think that it would be a good idea for you to leave yet, Harley.  Look at what we’ve just seen on the television.  The GCPD is going to be on high alert for days and then there’s Batman… He’ll be looking for us too.  We should consider our options.”

“What are the options?  I don’t want to be stuck here with nothing to do.  I hate being bored!” the clown-girl whined.

“And you won’t be.  This whole neighborhood is completely abandoned. If you’re so antsy, go and check it.  You won’t get sick now, I made sure of that.  And if you’re patient…”  Ivy suddenly smiled that same cruel smirk of earlier while _Gotham Live_ was on, but it was laced with something else, and Harley felt intrigued to know what was on the other woman’s mind.  

“If I’m patient… then what?” Harley leaned forward a fraction hoping Ivy would give up whatever secret she was implying.  As she did, she caught the soft sweet smell of Ivy’s hair again and resisted the urge the touch the silky stuff, or bury her nose in it.

“Well I’ve got _something_ in the works, and I was hoping you’d help me out a bit.  As I mentioned, I was impressed with the way you handled things at the museum.  You seem to be more... direct in the way you do things… more willing to get your hands dirty.” She paused and quickly added, “My research lies with saving the natural world; I could give a damn about all the humans in it…  The all deserve what happens to them.”  Ivy’s eye glowed with familiar fanaticism at the last statement, the passion so blatant that Harley could feel it filling the small space between them.  

“You really hate people don’t you, Red?”  It was the only thing Harley could think to respond with.  It was fascinating.  The Joker hated everyone, but for complex reasons that were his alone.  Pamela Isley hated everybody simply for breathing the air.

“Yes.  I do.  It is far more important to focus on the future of our environment, then on the future of the very things that are killing it every single day.”

Harley considered this for a brief moment, nodded to herself and with a straight face said, “Ivy, I just need you to know one thing…  I am a _person_ , so you can’t hate me if I help you, ok?” She then started to chuckle at her own silly joke.  “Because I don’t work well with folks who wanna kill me!”, and at that she did erupt into full blown laughter.

“Oh, Harley… I would say you and I are friends now.”  Ivy then reached over to Harley and almost as a show of good faith, touched the bare skin of the jester’s hand that was resting on her knee. “You don’t have to worry about me hurting you.”

Harley let her laughter bubble down until she was simply smiling, feeling good about the whole situation.  “Alright, we’ll do it your way for now.”  Ivy’s hand was still resting on Harley’s when she felt the redhead’s fingers start to move in small circles around her knuckles.

It was a comforting motion, one that made Harley feel relaxed and yet heated.  Special.  Wanted.  Ivy’s expression said the same too, and Harley couldn’t help but look into her green eyes, a sigh barley escaping her lips.  But Ivy’s touch and gaze also felt strangely practiced.  Harley lost her smile and pulled her hand back, tucking it under her knee in the most casual way possible.  “Let me know what the plan is tomorrow.  I’m going to grab some pants and take up your advice on exploring.  You sure I ain’t gonna get sick running around this place?”  Harley then stood up and crossed her arms.

Ivy seemed to sense the change in Harley’s demeanor and had moved her arm back around the couch, the wide neck of her thin cotton shirt still hanging off her shoulder, still dipping low on her breasts.  She looked up at Harley with a bored expression.  “I’m positive you’ll be fine.”  She moved to pull her forgotten potted plant into her lap once more.

“Ok. Cool.”  Harley was just about to leave the living room when a question popped into her head, one that she needed answered.   “Hey, Red… You said you hated the human race right?  Well, aren’t you a human too?”

Ivy caressed the leaves of the fern, and for a brief moment Harley thought that the red-head must not have heard her, when Ivy responded, “For now.”

Harley left the living room without another word, simply too confused to acknowledge the strange comment.

End Part Three.


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Swing It Low: Chapter Four

Pairing:  Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Summary: A ‘what-if’ spin on the episode ‘Harley and Ivy’. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Characters © DC.

++++

Harley Quinn did not see Poison Ivy by the time she had found some old jeans in her bedroom, and assumed the other women had gone to bed by the time she was ready to leave the comfortable (though plant ridden) house.  It was pitch black outside, save for the round yellow moon and pin prick stars, and Harley was grateful that she had a mini-flashlight tucked away in her shoulder bag.  “A girl can never be too careful.” She told herself when she dug it out.  The blond took a moment to find two black hair ties as well and quickly pleated her locks.  She cuffed her jeans and pulled on her boots just before opening the front door and stepping outside.  “It’s good to know it’s still muggy and disgusting out here.” Harley added to her own private conversation.  She decided the moon would be good enough to make her way around the deserted suburb, and tucked the small flashlight in the back pocket of her borrowed, loose pants.

She started a light jog through the suburban street.  It felt wonderful to be moving her limbs and once she knew she was warmed up, she sprang forward into cartwheel and landed solidly on her feet, never breaking the pace.  There was no incoming traffic, no children playing in the yards and no lights in the windows of the ranch style homes.  It was a far cry from Gotham; Harley had never seen so many stars in the sky. 

The silence was overwhelming, however, and Harley took off in a quick sprint, focusing on the hard slap of her boots hitting the pavement.  She was moving faster than she expected, not even on a really good night in Gotham could she move this fluidly, but chose to dismiss it.  She cut through darkened yards, hopping fences, landing on old swing sets, and jumping clean over an empty in ground pool.  Harley sprinted blocks away from Ivy’s adopted home, until she stopped in front of a particularly cute, one story house with an attached garage, in which she promptly picked up a large rock from the dead lawn and chucked it hard through a window.

The shattering glass was a welcomed sound, liberating in its harshness. “This silence is killing me, I almost wish an angry home owner would come out and wave their fist at me. Call me a ‘no good kid’ or something.” Harley muttered, as she walked towards the broken window. The hole was large enough for her to stick her hand in, and undo the cheap latch that was to be the only deterrent against people like her.

Once inside, the blond finally turned on the flashlight she was carrying, lighting up a cozy, but very dusty living room.  She wasn’t sure what she was looking for really, but Ivy had suggested exploring, and it wasn’t every day that a person had complete free access to an entire neighborhood.  She made her way down a hallway, towards the back, and into the master bedroom.  Harley was crossing her fingers for some clothing that would better fit her frame, and hit pay dirt in the dresser, acquiring some lightweight tee shirts and a few pairs of jeans that would quickly be converted into cut off shorts as soon as she got ahold of some scissors.  She even scored a relatively new pair of flip flops and some low top, hot pink Converse Chuck Taylor’s out of the closet.  The cherry on the top was a small nap sack to put it all into. “This is a pretty good heist, if I do say so myself, but I wonder if there might be a nicer prize in this place.” She was in no real hurry; Harley casually walked into the kitchen, and opened the side door that lead into the garage, flashlight bobbing cheerfully with each step. 

What she saw in there delighted her.

A 1965 Honda CB450 Black Bomber motorcycle, with a creamy white tank, if the flashlight was to be believed.  The bike was dusty, like everything else, and yeah, it wasn’t Ivy’s vintage Sedan, but it was still one hell of a score, in Harley’s most honest opinion. “You got lucky, Red…” whispered Harley as she circled the motorcycle, “Now I won’t have to hot wire your car. Hopefully, I won’t have to do it to this bad boy either…” 

The flashlight now darted around the tidy area, and landed on a key hooked to a nail in the wall.  The blond snatched it and pushed it into the ignition.  It fit, and when she turned the key, the motorcycle simply purred to life, like it was waiting for her, waiting to be turned on and ridden.  She slide her leg over the machine and settled on the leather seat.  She felt no shame in enjoying the vibration; this was power and freedom.

Harley had been concerned about Ivy being in charge of any sort of transportation back into Gotham.  She didn’t like the idea of having to rely on rides from anybody.  Plus, if trouble did show up, she wanted to make sure she could at least get away, because Harley was positive that Poison Ivy would have no issue leaving her in the dust, despite their earlier pleasantries.

Ivy be damned, but she was bringing this beautiful thing back to their joint tonight, and if it woke the red head out of whatever fantastical fern fantasies she was in the middle of, then _good_.  She jumped off only to open the garage door, and tore off with more aggression then she needed too, but dammit, it felt amazing.

++++

Poison Ivy wasn’t asleep Harley discovered as she was rummaging through what she presumed was a junk drawer in the kitchen.  She was looking for scissors to transform her new jeans into something more suitable for the dismal heat of summer, and was lost in her own thoughts when she felt the back of her neck prickling with sensation of being watched, _hard_.

“Back so soon, Harley?”

 Harley could have sworn that Ivy’s voice almost sounded flirtatious but didn’t turn around to face her until she found an old, but sharp pair of scissors, “Just looking for these.” And held them up for the red head to see, but stopped mid motion, because Ivy was standing a few feet away, in front of a door that could have led to garage, like the house that Harley had broken into, but garages don’t typically admit a fine green glow, a glow that was silhouetting the bio-terrorist.

And once again, the blond was struck by how lovely Pamela Lillian Isley looked, even now, in the baggy shirt that was almost transparent with the back lighting of what must be a greenhouse the jester decided.  She was walking towards Harley, slow and deliberate, away from the opened door that illuminated her hour glass figure.  The same heavy, concentrated scent of pompon; honeysuckle, gardenia, lily and roses, that Harley was overcome with when she first awoke filled her nose.  It was distracting, and so was Ivy, with each step her breasts would bounce slightly, the shadow of her nipple perky.  She was so close to Harley now, and would fill her entire vision in a moment, but something caught her sight, something in the doorway and around the floor, slinking along, taking the same path that Ivy walked.

A vine.  No, not one, but a few, winding around each other, like a helix.  Moving with intelligence, and purpose.  Harley snapped her eyes back to Ivy’s, which were now right in front of her, sultry brilliant emeralds, focused directly on her, like a predator.  She was so close now that the blond could feel Poison Ivy’s breath on her lips, and it would have been tempting to tilt her head to the side, just like Ivy was doing; the desire was overwhelming, it would have been so easy and satisfying.  But something just seemed wrong, this entire experience feeling forced, and out of her control.  Harley squeezed the scissors in her hand, grounding herself and managed out, “What the _hell_ are those things doing?”

Plants did not move like serpents, ready to strike.

Harley wasn’t a big fan of Mister J’s snakes-in-a-can gag, and she was discovering she wasn’t a big fan of these imitation snakes either.

The moment was broken, and fragrant scent of flora gone.  Ivy blinked as if she was waking from a dream, maybe a passing look of disappointment crossed her face, but Harley had already pushed her aside to get a better look at the crawling flora, only to see that nothing was out of the ordinary.  There was nothing in the doorway, nothing green and stalking, only the plain walls of the kitchen and clean linoleum floors. The greenhouse wasn’t glowing at all, but Harley could see hints and suggestions of vegetation.

“What are you talking back?”

Harley turned back to Ivy. “You know what I’m talking about! Don’t play stupid with me! Those plants that were just creepin’ in here! Movin’ like animals or something!”

Poison Ivy’s eyebrows raised up and she placed her index finger on her chin. “Maybe you’re still feeling the effects of being in this highly toxic place.  The antidote I gave you is experimental. You were the first person, besides myself, that has received it. I’ll have to make a note of possible hallucinations.” A small smile had settled on her flower petal lips, laced with something cruel.

Harley stared at her, slack jawed.  She knew when she was blatantly being lied too.  _Possible hallucinations?_ Harley now felt her own streak of ruthlessness run through her body.  “Oh yeah, Red?”  She then turned the scissors in her hand, and held them like a knife.  “Let’s just see what might need prunin’ in here.”  Harley took a wide strides towards the arboretum, crossing the space in two steps _.  I’m gonna hack all these stupid things to pieces and watch her cry.  Then I’m gonna laugh._

“Don’t you dare, Harleen Quinzel!” screamed Ivy, stomping towards the blond.

Harley spun to face the other woman, and pointed her scissors at her, “Then don’t patronize me!”

“I wasn’t!  I was suggesting-!”

“I know what you were suggestin’, so the cut the bullshit! And I may be crazy, but hallucinations aren’t part of my symptoms!  If you want to work together, then you need to at least be honest with me!  I really don’t care about what sort of experiments you’re doing, but don’t lie to me about them, and don’t use me as a guinea pig!  I know what I saw, you just need to acknowledge that, and we can move on!  Acknowledge it, and I won’t burn this place to the ground with you and you’re plants in it!”  Like, Harley said, she was crazy but not unreasonable.

Poison Ivy stood quiet for a moment, and then finally said, “Yes. What you saw is correct.”

Harley lowered her make shift weapon. “Thank you. I’m going to go make some shorts now.”

She left the kitchen and was halfway to her room, when Ivy called out to her, “Don’t ever threaten me again.”

“Don’t ever give me another reason too.” Replied Harley and slammed her door shut.

++++

It would be long after Harley cut the legs off of the jeans she found, after she decided to rinse out her costume in stainless steel sink in the laundry room, and finally decided to strip down and lay naked in her bed, that she pondered why she didn’t bring up the fact that Poison Ivy was acting like she was going push her tongue into Harley’s mouth during their argument in the kitchen.  Would Ivy have said that was part of her ‘hallucinations’ too?  Or would she have owned up to it?

Harley had a feeling that nothing would ever be that simple with Poison Ivy.

Nothing was simple with the Joker either.

“I don’t even know why I’m comparing the two of them.” Sighed Harley, bewilderment heavy in her chest.

The sound of another summer thunderstorm soothed her into sleep.

++++

Harley woke up in the early evening, the sun still out, but low on the horizon.  She guessed it was around 7:00 p.m., and decided to channel surf and generally be lazy when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.  “Hold on a minute!” she yelled.

She had kicked her sheets and blankets to the foot of the bed during her restless sleep, and was laying on bed naked. Harley moved to slide some clothes on, but had no chance to do so before the door opened.  It was clear that Ivy felt she held dominion over all territory in this home, and her knock wasn’t to ask for permission to enter, but to announce her presence.

Harley had enough time to pull the covers to her neck before Ivy was in her room and sitting on her bed.  She had changed out of her flimsy shirt, and was wearing her signature tight verdant green bodice, tall gloves that reached her elbows and matching boots.  The minty tights she wore under the structured bodysuit did little in the way of modesty; her waist tiny, hips and tits round.  She must have been in her precious greenhouse before she walked in, because small leaves were stuck in her flowing hair.  If Harley would have had leaves in her hair, it would have looked like she was rolling in somebody’s lawn, but Ivy wore them like a crown.

Still, seeing Ivy in her business suit sparked a fire in Harley.  Hopefully it meant that whatever Ivy had mentioned was going down tonight.

“What’s up, Red?” chirped Harley, trying to act as nonchalant as possible while laying naked under the thin barrier of her sheets.

“Well, I have something for you. A gift. An apology gift, if you will. The incident last night, you’re right, I shouldn’t have tried to lie to you like that.  It’s just that, the experiments I do in my lab, some would consider unethical. I’m used to having to hide them. But, I want this partnership between us to work. So, I hope you accept this. I made it just for you.” She held up a small three milliliter glass vial in between her slender index and thumb.  It was unmarked, but had an applicator top. 

“You made it for me?”  Harley asked incredulously. She couldn’t remember the last time the Joker gave her anything, other than a hard time.  She felt a genuine smile lift her cheeks. Harley pushed herself up with one arm, using the other to press the cotton to her breasts.  The sheet still slipped low, exposing her hip.  She reached for the perfume, eager to sample the aroma, but Ivy pushed her hand gently away and reached for her face. The move was startling, but Harley allowed it to happen, letting Ivy turn her head to the side, exposing the long line of her neck.  The jester’s eye lids dropped when she felt a leather clad finger brush her golden hair out of the way, and felt the moist spritz on her throat.

It was a sweet bouquet.

Sweet, like cotton candy, but with hints of vanilla, jasmine and freesia.

“Do you like it? It’s been a few years since I’ve made perfume.” Ivy spoke softly. Her gloved hand had settled on Harley’s bare one, and her fingers stroking the blonde’s, feather light touches, but so noticeable in the sudden stillness of the room.  They’re bodies were close again. Harley felt an arousing sensation drop from her stomach to between her toned thighs.  It felt hot, though the AC unit was still humming away strong.

“Yeah.” She answered. “I really like it, Pam.”

Ivy smiled. “Good. Wear it for me?”

“Of course.” That was easy enough.

Ivy lifted her hand away. “Tonight, I want to go out.” She had flipped a switch and her tone was professional and dangerous.  The loss of contact was depressing, but the prospect of causing chaos wasn’t.

“Tell me what the game plan is.” Harley adjusted the sheet, covering up her hip and shoulders.  Whatever intimacy they had was gone, evaporated into the air.

Ivy stood up. “Get dressed and meet me in the car. I’ll explain on the way.” Her scantily clad backside swayed out of Harley’s room.

++++

“We’re going where again?” asked Harley.  She was trying to push her hair into her black and red headpiece, but it was proving to be a chore with Ivy driving 70 miles per hour with the top down.

“The Peregrinators Club.  It used to be the place explorers and adventurers would get together, but has since become a lounge for the super-rich men of Gotham. They don’t admit women into their ranks. They’re sexist pigs whose only concern is male prestige. It also facilitates the destruction of rainforests and extinction of exotic animals via months long hunting exhibitions.  You’ll see when we get there, it’s disgusting.  But they have a rare plant that I want for my collection, stolen from the Philippines.  I’ll take back what was so wrongfully stolen from the earth.” Ivy spat.  She had that look in her eyes again; crazed fixation.

Harley leaned back in the passenger side seat and propped her feet up on the dash.  “Ok, Red, I get that.  I also get that you only brought a wooden crate with a bunch of oversized green bean pods to help you break into this joint, and overtake whatever security is guarding it. So, I propose-“

“They are not green bean pods! They are genetically altered creepers that respond to force, in which-“

“I propose we stop on the way to this club, or whatever is it, and stock up on some artillery, because Harley Quinn ain’t gonna rob nothin’ with just a single handgun and a half full clip! Work with me, Red! Now, which bridge are we taking into the city, I know where all the gun shops are.”

Ivy sighed. “Fine. We’re taking Vincefinkel Bridge.”

“Great, before we go over the bridge, there’s a place on the left. I think it’s called _Big Rick’s Pawn and Gun_. I’ll stock up before we hit the town, and then we can have a good ol’ time, whaddya say?  It’ll take five minutes.”

Ivy didn’t respond, but she was smiling.

++++

Big Rick lived up to his name.  He very round, very bald and very mean in his demeanor.  The dark circles under his eye and spotty skin only added to the unpleasantness of him.  He stood a good foot taller than Harley, and seemed to think that was going to make a difference in his efforts to intimidate the petite girl. “I told you, I’m closing up for the night, and I don’t do business with you types of freaks anyway!”  He stuck a sausage like finger right in Harley’s powered face, so close she could smell whatever fish he had eaten earlier in the day.  That was enough.

“Funny thing is, to do business, that would describe some sort of transaction, and I’m just going to take what I want!”  She was over the glass display counter in a split second, and landed a brutal punch in the bulbous nose of Big Rick.  It cracked under her knuckles; the bone had shattered.  When he fell straight back, Harley felt the ground under her feet vibrate. His gelatinous stomach wouldn’t stop jiggling for a good thirty seconds, as he lay prone on the dirty carpet of the pawn shop.

Harley had expected a tussle with the man and expected him to get up.  He didn’t offer up a fight, and he didn’t get up.

She walked over and examined his face. “Oh man, I did I number on this one.”  The injury would have made more since if Harley had thrown a fast ball at his face. The center of his mug had a deep concave indention in it, but when she squinted at the deathblow, she saw the impression of her phalanges. “Holy shit. How did I do that?” Harley whispered in wonder and gazed at her fist.  Blood, spit and snot coated her red glove.  She wiped it off on some paper towels that sat on a table with gun cleaning supplies, and dropped the balled up thing right in the middle of Rick’s new face.

Poison Ivy was now honking the horn.  Her five minutes were up.

Harley quickly grabbed what she had come in for; a Mossberg pump action 12 gauge shotgun, a Smith and Wesson .45 mm pistol, and a small Sig Sauer .9 mm pistol, with a hostler that would tuck nicely in the back of her shorts. She also grabbed boxes and boxes of each type of ammo, and crammed them in a bag.  It all should have weighted her down, but she carried out to the car with ease.  She put it all in the backseat, next to Ivy’s biological ‘weapons’, and hopped back in the passenger side without saying a word.

“Did you run into any trouble?” Inquired Ivy as she hit the gas. “You were gone longer then you said you would be, Harley.”

Harley thought about telling Ivy about Big Rick, but decided against it.  She wanted to process it first.  She wasn’t bothered by the murder, but more of its surprising nature.  She’d never killed anyone with a single hit before.  “No, everything went smooth.”

Harley felt Poison Ivy staring at her profile, but didn’t say anything.

++++

There were nice, expensive cars at The Peregrinators Club when they got there. “It’s almost midnight, what are all these people doing here?” Asked Harley.  She was loading her brand new Mossberg, sliding each shell in the tube with excitement when they pulled in to the parking lot.

“They’re having a stag party.” Stated Ivy, with a flat tone.  She was clearly unimpressed. “Let’s go have some fun with these boys.” 

“Doesn’t look like there’s any security. Betcha the front door isn’t even unlocked. Must have some brass balls, doing that here in Gotham.” Harley cocked the shotgun, a round now in the chamber.  She jumped out of the passenger’s side; Ivy wasn’t concerned with rising the top of her convertible, and Harley wasn’t concerned with opening the door.  Poison Ivy had popped the trunk and was attaching something to her leather glove.

A wrist-mounted crossbow.  So she wasn’t going with just over grown vegetables. “These are poisoned tipped.” Said Ivy in reference to the arrows.  She had caught Harley watching her as she was sliding the weapon on.

Harley propped the shotgun over her shoulder and grinned. “You got some style, Red!”

Ivy laughed, beautiful and rich, than reached for the crate in the backseat. “This is true. I think we’ll both make a very good impression, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hell, yeah.”

They both turned and faced the imposing building.  It was five stories high.  Harley sure hoped Ivy knew her way around.

Together they walked inside.

++++

Harley was wrong about calling Ivy’s little creeper pods, _green beans_.  Green beans didn’t explode when thrown to the ground and erupt into heavy cables. Green beans couldn’t choke a man to death, or squeeze a limb so hard that the snapping bones sounded like tree branches splintering in the wind.  Green beans also couldn’t make a grown man cry, ask for forgiveness or ask God _why_.  But these _things_ that Ivy had whipped up in her lab, they were doing all of the above.

Harley watched Ivy, as she circled around the meeting hall, soaking in her creations and making mental notes about what was working and what needed to be improved upon.  She was wearing her most malicious smile to date, and was simply radiating authority.  Every person in this room, about twenty men, were completing restrained and suffering.  If they spoke, it was only in pitiful moans.  Harley could see Ivy’s fist clutching and unclutching; her botanical achievements mimicking the motions, flexing harder and harder on their captives. More bones broke, more sobbing echoed.

_How is she doing that, how can she control them?_ Thought Harley. _What are you doing to yourself in that laboratory, Pam? Did you do something to me?_

Harley’s mind was still replaying the events are Big Ricks.

“What do you think, Harley? Ivy’s voice was amplified and filled with glee. 

Harley forced a giggle past her black lipstick coated mouth. “I think you did real good, Ivy!”

Ivy nodded, satisfied with the answer and turned to a sniveling man that sat wrapped in a chair at the very front of the room, the chairman of the board. Ivy leaned over him, face to face.  “And what do you think of my beautiful work, dear chairman?”

“I think you’re both bitches, who need to rot in Arkham with the rest of the crazies.”

Oh no.

Harley placed her free hand on her forehead, “Now, why did ya have to go and say that?”

“I am not crazy!” screamed Ivy, and fired the wrist mounted crossbow right into the eye of the chairman.  It was a strong little weapon, the arrow went clean through his skull and stuck in the wall behind him.  “I am a bio-terrorist of utmost importance!  Remember it!”

More screaming would have followed, the vines were getting even tighter around the captives still; they’d probably all be passed out soon with lack of oxygen soon.

“Let that be lesson to the rest of you!” Ivy snarled. “Let’s go, Harley!”

_Finally._

All these dramatics were fine and good, but Harley came to do some looting.

“Ta-ta, I hope you all will turnip again soon!” Sang Harley when she slammed the boardroom’s double doors closed, leaving both women in the quiet, dimly lit hallway.

“Harley that was an absolutely terrible pun.”

“That’s cute, because I don’t carrot all.” Replied Harley, deadpan.

Ivy actually looked like she was going to start crying, she was laughing so hard.  She had raised her leather gloved hand over her plump mouth, trying to muffle the purls of laughter.  “You’re so much funnier than the Joker ever will be, Harley.” 

Harley grinned sheepishly. It was quite the compliment, but heaven help her if the Joker ever heard that.  He’d probably make sure she’d never make anyone laugh again. _Don’t worry, Puddin’. You’ll always be funniest to me. But, gee, it’s so nice to see Red smile like that. I bet, no one ever gets to see it. Nobody but me._

“Well, I’ll be here all night! Or at least I will be if we don’t get out asses in gear! Which floor are we heading up too, Red?”

Ivy was still smiling. “We’re going to the very top, that’s where the artifacts are kept. My plant will be up there too. They keep all of the exotic flora in a nursery. The one I’m reclaiming is called strongylodon macrobotrys, and it’s-“

“Sounds awesome! Let’s go!” Harley wasn’t going to sit through a lecture standing in front of the room, where people were slowly being squeezed to death by mutated vines.

They took the stairs up, and when they reached the fifth floor Ivy made a beeline down to the very end of the hallway.  Harley picked a room at random.  It was good guess; this trophy room was full of shiny jewelry of all types.  There were polished gold necklaces and gleaming silver rings, inlayed with precious stones and gems, various in design, all representing peculiar lands and faraway cultures. “I’m not really a jewelry type of girl…” But one wide pale yellow gold bracelet was catching her eye; it had a slight hammered texture, but smooth rose-cut amethysts and emeralds had been inset skillfully.  “I like both of those colors the best.” 

Harley swung the shotgun over her shoulder (it luckily had a strap attacked to it), placed her hands on her hips and consider the best way to remove her loot from the thick display cases. “Just because the building wasn’t alarmed, doesn’t mean the shit inside isn’t, I think I got my glass cutter in the car, maybe I can-“

An eardrum bursting, artificial scream ripped through the air.

Harley threw her hands up in the air.

“Again! Are you kidding me, Red?! So you can genetically engineer a bunch of stupid plants, but you can’t _not_ trip alarms?!”

She swung the gun down of the display cases and grabbed as much as she could hold.  Harley heard steadily clicking heels down the hallway.  “Harley, let’s get out of here!” Ivy yelled from outside the trophy room.  She nearly collided with the red head when she ran out, arms full of treasure.  Poison Ivy was clutching a very unimpressive jade vine to her bosom. “It doesn’t even have any flowers!” Exclaimed Harley.

“Oh, shut up Harley!”

They sprinted down the stairs, taking two at a time, Harley in the lead.  She made it to the front doors first, and used her shoulder to shove them open.  She’d drop everything and open fire on the GCPD before Ivy and herself went to Arkham tonight.  There were no cops yet, but the sirens where echoing off the surrounding buildings.  They’d be there soon, already on high alert from the robbery only a night ago.  Both women jumped into the light pink Sedan.  Harley unceremoniously dumped her priceless trinkets on the floorboard, but Ivy had the audacity to lovingly secure her new houseplant in the backseat, complete with seatbelt strapped across the terracotta pot.  “You need to drive! Now! I see the cars coming!”

“On it!”  Ivy slammed her heel on the gas pedal.  The smell of rubber filled the air— Ivy had burned the tread off the tires— and tore out of the parking lot.  There was little traffic on the bridge now; it was either far too late for most of the denizens of Gotham to be awake, or far too early to start morning commutes.  They had a small gain over the GCPD but by the time they reached the Vincefinkel Bridge, one black and white vehicle had caught up with them; blaring siren and obnoxious lights. “Pull over now, or we will open fire! This is your only chance to surrender!”  Boomed a voice over them mounted intercom unit within the cop car.

Ivy ignored the warning, and shifted into a higher gear; she was pushing the car to over 80 mph.  Four gunshots rang out into the night air, a stray bullet ricocheting off a steel piling.  _The GCPD may have fast cars, too bad they have shit shots._ Thought Harley. _But if that’s how they want to play…_

Harley clicked the safety off her Mossberg, then stood and braced her backside against the dash of the car.  The rushing speed had the jester’s cap ‘n bells thrashing widely around her face.  The cop that had been firing at them was leaning out of the passage’s side window, and had switched his pistol for a police issued Remington 870P Max.  The driver had gotten his car so close that it was almost touching Ivy’s bumper.

Harley butted the gun against her shoulder and aimed.

“Be careful!” Yelled Ivy.  She was focused on the road but kept stealing glances at the blond.

“Don’t worry! I’ve done this before! Just get us out of town before more show up!”

She pulled the trigger.

Their windshield fractured violently, now a spider web made of curved glass and plastic.  The buckshot didn’t break through completely, but it jarred the driver enough to tap his breaks.

The officer with the Remington was still hanging out of his window.  He was posed to fire, and as Harley was pumping the empty shell out of her chamber, she heard a BOOM and felt something rip through her thigh.  The impact threw her back, violently, on the dash of the car.

“Harley!” Screamed Ivy.

_I’ve been shot.  It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.  But don’t look at it, don’t look._

Adrenaline gave her the strength she needed to aim and pull the tripper one more time, hitting the opposing vehicle’s hood, the force ripping it from the latches.  It popped up, exposing the smoking engine.  The cops spun out, the speed and damage too much, and collided with the last pillar of the bridge.

It only took two minutes to cross the bridge and get out of the city.

Harley could see faint red and blue lights getting smaller.  The backup that was no doubt called to support the either dead or injured cops, came too late.  It was a glorious sight and a smug feeling settled in Harley’s chest.  But she was also starting to feel woozy and terribly tired.  Her leg also felt wet and raw and…

She was losing balance and slumped back into the passenger’s seat; the gun slipping from her hands.  Harley mustered up the courage to look down.

_Oh, hell._

That son-of-a-bitch must have gotten lucky.  There was no way he was smart enough to know that aim for the center of her leg, there was no way he even knew what a femoral artery was, but that’s what he shot— Harley was now positive that this was probably her last heist because the blast had just flayed her thigh open.  There was so much bleeding.

How had the night turned so bad, so quickly?

“Harley!  Try to put pressure on it!”

The jester stared at Poison Ivy stupidly. 

Shock was taking over. 

Her vision was going dark along the edges.

Her head dipped.

A firm grip forced her face up.  Ivy had one hand on the wheel, but had reached over and was gripping Harley’s chin with so much pressure, it hurt.  It was the second time Ivy had touched her like this, but it had none of the affection of earlier.  Ivy was hurting her on purpose, trying to bring her world back into focus. “Look at me!”

Harley met Ivy’s eyes.  They had a glossy sheen to them.

“I… see ya… Red.”

The speed was flowing through Ivy’s hair, red curls dancing around her face, pretty mouth open and closing, saying something, but Harley’s vision was fading out. “You’re going to be alright! I promise! The injection… gave… it’ll…”

What was she going on about?  Didn’t see know that Harley was currently bleeding to death all over the leather interior of Ivy’s car?

_I’m going to die. And… and…. I don’t want to die. I’ll never get to see Mister J again. You’ll miss me right, Puddin’?_

Her heart hurt at the very thought of never seeing him again. 

“Harley!”

_Just look at you, Red. Screaming my name, looking so worried. Looking so angry. I’ll never get to see you again either._

And then she felt her heart actually breaking.

Harley had very little strength left, but pressed her hand against the gaping wound in her thigh, trying to keep what she could inside her body.  Maybe the injury wasn’t so bad, her hand felt a little flatter against her skin then she thought it would.

Maybe she could bounce back and just keep…

And then everything went black.

End Part Four.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Swing It Low: Chapter Five

Pairing:  Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Summary: A ‘what-if’ spin on the episode ‘Harley and Ivy’. Kicked out by the Joker, Harley finds a friend, and possibly more, in Poison Ivy.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Characters © DC.

++++

Harley Quinn knew she was alive, because of the faint, dull pain in her left leg.

It was pleasantly surprising not be dead.

But she didn’t want to open her baby blue eyes; she was so tired and drained. It would require too much energy to actually lift her eyelids. She shifted her weight. She was on the lush couch of Ivy’s living room.

“Harley.”

_Yeah, that’s me._

A soft sensation was dabbing her face; a washcloth.

“Open your eyes. Please.”

“Mn.” Was Harley’s intellectual answer.

“I’m going to lift you forward, and I want you to drink this.”

_No thanks, Red._

She should have said it out loud, because she felt an arm move behind her, push her up into a sitting position and press a warm cup to her lips. She sucked it down as commanded. It was nothing but hot water and lemons, however it was the best thing Harley had tasted in what felt like years. She drank every last drop, and was then lowered back down. She felt her bangs flop into her face. She was missing her hood.

A hand settled on Harley’s flat stomach.

She was engulfed by the sweet scent that was Poison Ivy, and she felt a silky strand of hair tickle the bare skin of her chest. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know Ivy was leaning over her. She could also smell the perfume that had been misted along her jugular; it was stronger than it had been earlier.

“Do you remember what happen?”

Harley reached up and caught the piece of hair that was dancing on her sternum between her index finger and thumb. She wanted to feel the texture of it in her hand, but she still had her gloves on.

_Well, let me see, Red. I got shot because you tripped another alarm. And the next time we go out, leave all the stealing to me, because you suck. And there was so much blood, I would apologize for the mess, but if your car is ruined, you only have yourself to blame. And I should be dead because my leg was just torn apart, and-_

A horrifying through crossed Harley’s mind.

“Do… I still have a leg?” She crocked out. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t in any pain.

“Open your eyes, and look.”

Harley opened her eyes slightly, and her assumption was indeed correct about Poison Ivy. She was inches from Harley’s face, her ruby hair forming a curtain over them. Her bright red lips were parted, and her breath smelled like peppermint. She made no motion to move away from the blond now that her eyes were open. Harley was glad, she really didn’t want Ivy to move. She reached down and pressed her hand to her leg. It was tender, but it was entirely whole. “How?” She whispered with wonder.

Ivy finally moved away from Harley, the bit of hair that the blond had twirled around her finger, spiraled away gently.  Her hand was lifted away from Harley’s abdomen, leaving only a lingering warmth.  Without Ivy obstructing her view, Harley pushed herself up a little with her elbow and looked down.  The motley costume she wore was unzipped down to her navel.  It would need to be retired, it’s left leg ripped all the way up to her hip.  There was no way to repair it, but Harley was not disappointed, because there was her smooth, creamy white leg.  The only thing that looked off was a nasty purple bruise, right where there should have been nothing.  _It just didn’t make sense!  I saw chunks of my muscle splattered across the radio console!_

She looked at Ivy, and then looked past her to the coffee table she was kneeling in front of.  There was a washcloth with white and black makeup smudged on it, a syringe, and the same bottle that the botanist had out the first night Harley stayed. Her remedy for the toxic fumes that still resided in the air _.  But that’s not all that it is, I’m sure of it. And before I blacked out, she mentioned something about ‘the injection’. What has she put inside of me?_

“You should be grateful, instead out looking at me like that.”

Harley had been glaring at Ivy without even realizing it. 

But she was just so pissed off.

“I’m not grateful to be used as an experiment by you.  What the hell have you done to me?” Hissed Harley.  Ivy had the nerve to look offended.

“Besides saving your life, I’ve been tolerating your bratty attitude.”

“I am not a brat! It’s totally your fault that I was almost killed! You’re like the _worst_ criminal I’ve ever met!” Spat Harley.

“That’s because I’m not a criminal, I am a-“

“Shut up!”

Harley was now pushing herself up all the way.  She felt terribly weak, but managed.  Ivy raised her hands, like she wanted to help steady Harley, but the blond waved them away.  She didn’t want to be touched by anyone right now.

“I really don’t understand why you’re so angry, Harley.”

The jester placed her feet on the ground, finally sitting up straight.  Ivy had taken her boots off again.

“That’s the problem!  You really don’t see anything wrong with lying about what you did to me!”

“I didn’t lie to you, the antidote really does give you immunity against toxins!”

“It’s just doing something else to me too! I told you not to use me!”  _But I said it too late, because she already had._

“Use you?” Ivy tossed her head back and laughed mockingly. “No, kid. I haven’t used you, and what if I had? You should be accustomed to it by now, with how the Joker treats you! You dress like a jester—a fool— and that’s what you are!”

Harley felt like she had just been sucker punched in the heart. That crossed the line, a line what was already carved into the tissue of Harley’s deepest psyche.  Ivy’s statement only brought up a fear that Harley often refused to acknowledge. 

And dammit, it hurt to hear the red head rub it in, because Harley actually liked Ivy so much that it hurt.  But despite her feelings, she wasn’t going to sit around and listen to this.

“I’m leaving.” She stood and so did Ivy aggressively.  Harley raised her hands, because if a fight were to be had, she was going to go down swinging, but Ivy grabbed her wrists, and pulled Harley’s body against hers. “You’re not going anywhere.”  Ivy whispered.

Harley tried to pull away from her, but it was no use, the damage from her injury had taken too much out of her and Ivy was _strong_ , so much stronger then she looked. “Let me go!”  She felt her heartrate starting to speed up, not from anger, but something else completely.

“I will not.” Replied the red head casually.  She kicked one of her heeled boots between Harley’s feet just enough to make the blond loose her balance, and she toppled over onto the couch.  Ivy fell with her, using leverage to pin her down.  She still had one foot on the floor, but now straddled the blonde’s waist.  Harley’s heart was pounding, not from fear, but from the uncomfortable _tension_ that was between the two of them.  She could feel the curvature of Ivy’s ass right on her pelvis, and with her legs spread open, it was hard not to just _look_ at her.

Harley was undeniable attracted to this woman, even with her lies and mean words, and she accepted it, right then and there.  She was attracted to Poison Ivy, just like she was attracted to the Joker.

 The older woman looked down at her, and Harley knew she felt it too, because she was breathing so deeply through her nose, that her breasts were heaving and about to spill out of the shimmering green corset that was doing everything it could to stay in place.  Ivy leaned over her, hands still gripping her wrists, and pressed her entire body along Harley’s, and dammit, she could feel every curve that Ivy possessed right against her own lean frame. 

Ivy’s hair curtained their faces once again, and she pressed her mouth against Harley’s and whispered, “Stop acting like you want to leave. I’ve tried being sweet to you, but you want to fight every time. I know you want me.” She skimmed her lips to the side of Harley’s own, who was too dazed by the fact that Ivy had moved her leg from around Harley’s waist and was nudging her legs apart, planting her knee firmly between the blonde’s legs. “And for the record, no one can leave or resist me.”

She removed her hand from Harley’s right wrist and brought it to the back of her head, running leather clad fingers through thick golden hair, before gripping it and pulling back Harley’s head, exposing the line of her neck.  Harley gasped because at the same time Ivy grinded her knee right into Harley’s twat.

Ivy ran her tongue across Harley’s throat, leaving a wet trail to her chin and then slowly and methodically ran her nose to her ear, and started pressing her lips to the tender skin found there.  Harley’s breath was hitching and Ivy must have taken it as a cue to open her mouth and suck. Harley could feel her teeth starting to bite down. “Red!”

Ivy released her skin with a wet _pop._

“Be quiet, Harley. I don’t want to hear your smart ass little mouth right now. Now kiss me.”

Ivy brought her mouth to Harley’s lips, not stopping for even a moment before she pushed her tongue into the jester’s mouth and moaned into it.

Blood was rushing into Harley’s ears.  Her brain was shutting down, instinct driving only a focus of primal lust.  Ivy’s kiss was powerful and overwhelming, just like her presence.  Her intoxicating smell was flooding Harley’s nose, and she could only tilt her head and move her own tongue into the other woman’s mouth, felt compelled to do so.  Her desire was so strong, taking root in her veins and blossoming in her over excited nerves.  She wrapped her arms around Ivy’s small waist and tried to move their bodies closer, if it was even possible. The reward for doing so was Ivy once again pushing her knee into Harley’s vulva, which the blond arched up to meet with enthusiasm.

Ivy broke the kiss, and Harley mourned the loss of it, but looking up at Ivy was thrilling.  There must have been left over black lipstick on her mouth, because now it was smeared right across Ivy’s plump lips.  It was a terribly arousing sight for Harley and she unknowingly sighed. 

“I know how much you’re liking this.” Commented Ivy, her voice going husky.

A lustful moan escaped from Harley’s mouth and she brought her hand to her face, only to have Ivy grab it.  She held eye contact with her while she brought one of Harley’s fingertips to her mouth and slowly, pulled her glove off with perfect teeth.  She didn’t let Harley’s hand go, and guided it over her own soft face, down to her décolletage and to one of her perfect tits, and squeezed her hand into Harley’s, encouraging her to mimic the motion.  The blond could feel her hard nipple through the bodice and needed no encouragement to pinch it.  Ivy moaned low in her throat, approving the gesture.  She left Harley’s hand there and pulled her other glove off, and nipped at her bare palm.  She gripped Harley’s hair once more time and then slid it underneath the blond girl’s already unzipped costume, fingers roaming around the tight material.

 Harley bent her body to the contact, wanting the red head to touch everything.  She hadn’t taken her own leather gloves off, and the friction felt breathtaking against the blonde’s supple skin.  Harley tossed her head back, getting lost in the sensation of Ivy’s hands that were moving against her breasts, her right nipple caught in between Ivy’s index and middle finger.

Ivy’s other hand now joined it’s mate inside of Harley’s costume, and gave her left breast a small squeeze, before stripping the piece of clothing off her shoulders, exposing her to the air.  Ivy worked her out of the arms and peeled the black and red bodysuit right below her hips.  She took Harley’s hands once again and rested them on her own hips.  She gazed at Harley, and the blond felt her cheeks turn pink for the first time during their exchange.

She had nothing to be ashamed about. Her bosom wasn’t quite as large as the red head’s, but her tits were perky, with perfectly symmetrical pale pink nipples. Her body was fit with a small waist, full hips and slender legs.  She also knew she had an ass to die for; years of gymnastics paying off in spades.

“I could just eat you up, Harley.”

She proved it by kissing Harley again, sucking the blonde’s tongue out of her mouth.  Harley met the kiss, tangling it with Ivy’s own tongue.  She was once again shocked at how stimulating it was, just having the red head’s lips against hers.  She never realized that her lips could be so connected to her clit, but with each caress, each stroke of Ivy’s tongue, Harley could feel a throb centered right at that very spot.  They traded slow, wet kisses, before Ivy broke away from her mouth again, a glistening line of saliva bridging their lips.  Ivy trailed small pecks down to one of Harley’s nipples and kissed it softly, once again massaging her leg into the blond.

Too much pressure was building, and she swore she was going to just _burst_ if Ivy kept doing that.

“Red, I’m gonna-“

“Oh, you can’t come yet.” Whispered Ivy against her nipple, and then caught it in her teeth and drew it into mouth.  One of her hands was burning a line down her abdomen, Harley felt it pause right where her skin and costume met, and she realized that she had buried her own hands into her flaxen tresses, and was moaning with a wonton abandon. “Please!”

Ivy was smiling, Harley’s nipple still betwixt her teeth, but the blond could feel the movement.  Ivy’s hand dove past the barrier of latex, past the thin line of curls, and slid right against Harley’s clit, her middle finger undulating against it, while her index and ring finger spread her apart, like a flower.

“You’re so wet. I can feel it through my gloves.” Sighed Ivy.  Harley tried to ignore her comment. She knew she was absolutely soaked. She could feel the fabric of her costume slide against her labia every time she bellowed onto Ivy’s knee. The red head was moving her middle finger in tight circles now, and buried her face into the curve of Harley’s neck.  She was nipping at her skin, the pain an enticing contrast to the pleasure.

Ivy’s digit went lower and one finger glided into her body with ease.  She hooked her finger up and moved it in a rapid succession, pressing against something so sweet in Harley’s body and it made the blond want to cry in pleasure.  She was on the verge of wonderful, satisfying orgasm.  

And then Ivy removed her hand and her mouth.  Harley felt like she wanted to cry, but Ivy wasn’t leaving her, not entirely, she was getting off Harley only so she could pull the rest of the jester’s attire off.  She tossed it nonchalantly in a corner, near one of her many plants.  Without saying a word, she crawled back on to the couch, serpentine in grace, face moving down, arched back high.  Harley could see the swell of her ass, the low dip of her bodice revealing toned shoulder blades. Ivy gripped Harley’s knees and spread them apart, revealing her to fully dilated emerald eyes.

“So in bloom for me.”  Beads of sweat were dotting Ivy’s smooth forehead.  She hadn’t made a move to undo any of her clothing, but Harley quivered none the less, not with shame or embarrassment, but the total feeling of domination that was radiating off the red head.  Harley was elated to submit to her.

Ivy slid her hands down Harley’s legs, carefully past the bruise, but pulling her hips up and leaned forward.  She kissed her wet inner tights, so close to her quim and the blond shut her eyes, waiting and wanting with every fiber of her being.  _Just do it!_

“Look at me.”

Harley did was she was told and looked down between her rapidly rising and falling breasts, firm stomach, to Ivy who had her legs in a death grip and whose face right above her pink flesh.  Ivy’s eyes smoldered into hers.  Harley didn’t turn away or even blink as Ivy opened her enviable mouth, licked her bottom lip and flicked her tongue right into the blonde’s moist opening, up to her clitoral hood.  She withdrew her mouth and smiled down at her trembling handy work for a second and then resumed, the tip of her tongue like a dart against Harley’s clit. 

The blond wanted so badly to push herself closer to Ivy’s mouth, but the other woman’s hands held her hips down.  She did take sympathy on the jester however, reaching underneath Harley to grip her ass and lifted to angle her body higher, and thrust her tongue into the slippery skin, going so deep that when she pulled away, her lips were glistening like she had gloss on. 

Harley felt like a tightly woven cord about to snap.  She couldn’t control the shudder that had taken over her entire being.  She was so close and _needed_ Ivy to continue, to bring her over the edge, because surely she would go further into insanity if the red head didn’t _keep_ eating her out.

As if Ivy sensed the inevitable, she released Harley’s ass, and moved her hand to the back of her knee, pushing it forward, and positioned Harley’s other leg over her shoulder, somehow spreading her further apart.  Ivy returned Harley’s clit, licking at it hard and steady, until the blonde’s toes curled and she pushed Ivy’s head forward with both hands, tangling her fingers into crimson locks.

She came, hard, when she felt two fingers plunge inside of her, and move with complimentary rhythm to the tongue which was assaulting her clitoris. “Red!”

 Ivy pressed her wet mouth to Harley’s, the blond tasting herself all over the others lips and tongue; it was sweet.  She then brought the two, dripping fingers up and glided them across Harley’s lips, dragging them down to her chin before leaving her face entirely, to grip her jaw.

She kept pressing small kisses around her cheeks, while Harley rode out the ripples of orgasm, until she could breathe through her nose, and stopping gasping.

Ivy finally got up from Harley’s spread legs, the heat that was between them all the more apparent now that Ivy had moved.  A chill crept over her naked body.  She brought her legs together, and was preparing to settle into a nap, her brain not ready to process what happened, but Ivy pulled her up to her feet.  She was guided to the master bedroom, not taking in the details of the decor, her brain hazy and on autopilot.

She climbed into Ivy’s bed, plopped down on the plush comforter, and wiggled herself into the silky sheets. Harley closed her eyes, ignored the rustling of clothing and the cool air of covers being lifted away.  Ivy’s warm body was laying next to her.

_Should I say anything?  Do anything?_

“Red…” Started Harley.

Ivy touched Harley’s hand under the covers.

“Just go to sleep, Harley. We can talk later.”

Harley dozed off.

++++

Harley’s slept well for a few hours, but a nagging feeling woke her up.  She didn’t go back to sleep, and glanced over to Ivy, sensual even in slumber.  She was on her side, the sheet gathered around her hips.  She was nude— voluptuous breasts bare, and even in the dim room, Harley could see how flawless her body was, a body that had been intimately exploring hers only hours ago. 

The memory of their encounter, stirred up excitement in Harley.

But the unfamiliar feelings of guilt and confusion crept in.

She thought about the last few days, everything that had brought her to this moment.

She missed the Joker, wanted to hear his voice, but didn’t want to go to him.

She didn’t want to leave Poison Ivy, but still had no clue as to what concoction was flowing through her bloodstream, or Ivy’s intentions.

She loved the Joker.

But Ivy was…

_Well, what are we now, friends or lovers? Nothing at all? I just want to talk to someone… who can I go too?_

She remembered the episode of _Gotham Live_ from a few nights ago, although it seemed like countless years in the past. 

She knew who was out of Arkham Asylum.

Jonathan Crane would know plenty about chemistry and maybe Crane and Isley crossed paths with each other at Gotham University.

Would it be a betrayal to go to Professor Crane for insight about Ivy?

Harley didn’t really think so.

Harley unwrapped the covers from her body, gently as to not disturb the other woman.  She walked with soft footing to her room, grabbed the frayed jean shorts and stolen white V-neck shirt.  She vaguely hoped it was thick enough; she didn’t have a bra.

 She quickly took a shower, investigating her leg up close. The bruise was starting to go yellow around the edge.  She rubbed it gently, afraid that it might still just fall off. It didn’t. 

Harley got out of the shower and pinned her wet hair into a messy bun.  The shirt was thick enough, just barley.  The shorts were cut short, long enough to cover her ass, but show off her slim legs. Harley walked back to her room, sitting down on her unmade bed to lace up the low top Chuck Taylor’s.

Grabbing the keys to the motorcycle, and a few twenties from the wad of cash in her bag, Harley stepped into the hot, blinding day.

End Part Five.


End file.
